


Castiel Novak Hates Pet Names

by Englandwouldfall



Series: Misunderstandings and stuff [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bartender Castiel, Cas' brothers are business dicks, F/M, HUGE misunderstandings, Human AU, Humor, I'm serious it's really dumb, Lawyer Sam Winchester, M/M, Mechanic Dean, Misunderstandings, Romance, Romantic Comedy, This whole thing is really stupid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-21
Updated: 2014-06-23
Packaged: 2018-01-09 13:06:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 27,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1146347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Englandwouldfall/pseuds/Englandwouldfall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Although Castiel’s ‘people skills’ are slightly rusty, he’s entirely sure the way Dean talks about his girlfriend  ‘baby’ is a tad inappropriate…but then maybe that’s just because Castiel is in love with him.</p><p>In which there is a bit of a misunderstanding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this was genuinely supposed to be a one chapter 5k romcom type thing, but then I started filling in a little bit of back story and the whole thing got a lot longer and a lot less funny than it was supposed to in the first place. The next chapter should be actually more focused on the Dean-says-things-about-the-impala-that-Castiel-misinterprets so, ahha, bare with me?
> 
> Warnings: um... drinking, a high degree of cringe... that's probably about it.

The first time Dean Winchester and Castiel Novak meet, they are both having a very bad day. 

Castiel hates Tuesdays for a variety of reasons, mostly associated with the patrons of his brother’s gay bar and the mess they tend to make. He doesn’t work weekends and the bar doesn’t open on Sundays (which Castiel always thought was a strange nod to their hyper-religious upbringing), so by Tuesday he’s had three days to convince himself that it isn’t as bad as he remembered. 

Inevitably, it always is. 

He’s just reached the point where he's decided that enough was enough, and that he would demand Gabriel remove him to a different position in his business empire (because it hadn’t been particularly funny when Gabriel had placed him here three months ago and it definitely wasn’t funny now), when he hears them. 

“– I get it, Sam,” A voice says, “You’re a big hot shot lawyer and you forgot it was a Tuesday.” 

Castiel looks up and is halfway to telling them that they’re closed and they don’t open up till _much_ later, when he accidentally catches the speaker’s eyes. The speaker is, quite possibly, the most attractive person Castiel has ever seen and it’s enough to throw him for a minute. 

“ _Five minutes,”_ the other man says, before Castiel has managed to look away, “I’m sorry for forgetting date night, Dean, but –” 

It’s an incredible shame, Castiel thinks, that this Dean and Sam arrived together. Although he’s not known for his skill at deciphering social situations, even he can work out that the statistical probability of two men entering a gay bar together, discussing ‘date night’ and not being in a relationship is virtually zero. Even if the gay bar happens to be closed at the time. 

“ – oh screw you,” the first speaker, Dean, says, “I’m not being some needy chick, Sam. I haven’t seen you forever. Lunch once a week, that’s all I’m asking for here.” 

“We’re having lunch right after…” Sam says, glancing up and finally registering that Castiel is hovering near one of the booths, where he’d been trying to decide whether to call the cleaners back in or deal with the mysterious smell (and probable source) himself. Sam looks at him for a few minutes whilst Dean rolls his eyes towards the ceiling and mutters something Castiel doesn’t quite catch, “Are you… Castiel?” 

“Yes,” Castiel answers. The question as to _how_ the strangely tall man knows who he is is implicit, and one both Castiel and Dean seem to be radiating. 

“Gabriel said you… uh, had blue eyes,” Sam says, apologetically. 

“Jesus,” Dean says, throwing up his hands, “could this get any more gay?” 

“Actually,” Sam says, “this is a gay bar.” 

“Of course it is,” Dean says, sighing audibly, “you wanna tell the guy why we’re here, Sam? Or keep dragging this out.” 

“Right,” Sam says, “I’m your brother’s lawyer, for the lawsuit…? He said to meet him here any time before opening today.” 

“I didn’t realise Gabriel was here today,” Castiel says, frowning slightly. Gabriel has a bit of a habit of disappearing for weeks, usually with girls and motorcycles, before randomly appearing at any of his business ventures to check the books and tweak some minor detail or other. 

“He said to uh, meet him in Purgatory. The one not in Miami.” 

Dean rolls his eyes again. 

“I’ll go find him,” Castiel says, “take a seat… although,” Cas says, eyes snapping towards Dean, who freezes in his motion to sit down in the booth he’d just been examining, “I believe someone vomited on that particular booth.” 

“Great,” Dean says, straightening up, “I think I’ll stay standing.” 

Thinking about the lawsuit definitely doesn’t make Castiel feel any better and, presumably, the quicker he finds Gabriel the faster the discussion about the lawsuit will be over, leaving Dean to his belated date and him to make a decision about the vomit. 

“The hell does a gay bar owner need with a lawyer, anyway?” Dean asks, as Cas steps into the back to fetch Gabriel. 

* 

“A lawyer, a grease monkey and a business man walk into a gay bar,” Gabriel grins, “And my brother is the punch line.” 

“Watch where you’re shoving your insults,” Dean mutters, leaning against the bar looking moody and a tiny bit beautiful, not that Castiel is planning to focus on that. 

“I take it you’re the brother,” Gabriel says, nodding between Sam and Dean with a raise of the eyebrows. 

_Oh._ Brother. Which would explain Dean’s apart discomfort at being in a gay bar, although did no real favours for Castiel chances (not that he had any, really), because it most definitely slimmed down the probability of him being interested in men. 

“Dean Winchester,” Dean says, “I was promised lunch.” 

“We have food,” Castiel ventures, without really being sure why. Gabriel turns his gaze on him, raising his eyebrows in a way that clearly suggests his brother has worked out exactly where Castiel’s thoughts are levelled. 

“Awesome,” Dean says, “a business lunch in a gay bar.” 

“The food is next door in the café.” 

“This gonna take that long, Sammy?” 

“Probably,” Sam admits, “Dean, I’m sorry – ” 

“Save it,” Dean says, waving a hand, “A burger’s a burger. Anyway, I can talk to the brother with the equally stupid name that I don’t remember.” 

Castiel hadn’t really been planning on joining them (as it’s been his intention to avoid the law suit as much as possible), but he finds himself feeling ever so slightly inclined to just _go_. It will, at least, put off the moment when he has to deal with the gay bar for slightly longer. 

“That’s your cue to introduce yourself, kiddo,” Gabriel puts in, looking entirely too amused by the whole thing. 

“Castiel.” 

He makes a point not to mention his second name, lest Dean Winchester isn’t aware of it yet. 

“Awesome,” Dean says, “let’s eat before I start ingesting myself.” 

* 

The conversation gets awkward approximately ten minutes in, when Sam brings up the Lucifer and Michel court case that took up most of the news for the past year (or so Raphael had told him when he picked Castiel up from the airport and told him to pick a side and lay low). Dean stops stuffing his face full of burger for long to stare at the both of them, but mainly Castiel, for a few moments. 

“You’re related to those douche bags?” Dean asks, eyes fixed on Castiel. 

“Brothers,” Gabriel answers, before Castiel can remember precisely how words work. He thinks he _should_ find Dean’s impressive display of inhaling his burger mildly repulsive, but instead he’s enthralled by the whole event. 

“And you’re suing who?” 

“Meg Masters,” Gabriel says, “Lucifer’s PA.” 

“And you said we had family issues,” Dean says, before returning to his burger. 

“Yes, well,” Castiel says, “It’s a little difficult to beat a two way battle between two of the biggest business owners in the states.” 

“Three way,” Gabriel interjects, “I like a three way. Besides, Cassie, I’m international.” 

“You own a brothel in Prague,” Castiel says, “it hardly counts.” 

“It’s not a brothel,” Gabriel counters, “It’s just –” 

“So you’re not getting in on the fight, Cas?” Dean asks him, expression open and curious and entirely fixed upon him as opposed to his burger. Castiel freezes slightly because _nickname,_ before remembering that, as Gabriel may have told him once or twice, gaping at someone is not a substitute for conversation. 

“I don’t have as much muscle to throw at the matter.” 

“I dunno,” Dean says, quirking his eyebrows up slightly. Castiel feels himself flush slightly. 

“Dean,” Sam Winchester complains, twisting into an expression of apparent displeasure that Castiel isn’t sure how to interpret. It’s possible that Sam does not want Dean talking to his client as a matter of professionalism, but Castiel has little to do with the lawsuit and Gabriel is _not_ a professional. 

“What?” Dean asks, “Only wanting to know if Cas here is also a multi-millionaire hot shot business tycoon.” 

“I work in a gay bar,” Castiel deadpans, “what do you think?” 

“Could be a cover,” Dean suggests, smiling slightly, “but yeah, I take your point. Well, hey, at least I’m not the only one here who isn’t minted.” 

“Technically, I still several hundred thousand in inheritance.” 

“Well that’s just great,” Dean says, expression twisting, as he stands up, muttering something about hitting the stall and heads towards the bathroom. Castiel chest tightens slightly. 

“Sorry,” Sam apologises hastily, “We didn’t really have a lot growing up, so he doesn’t really uh, like rich people and I just jumped this on him because I forgot dinner as this is my first big case and –” 

“- cool it, Sam-o. So your brother has a masculinity complex and you grew up homeless, we get it.” 

“Motels, actually.” 

“Huh,” Gabriel says, waving this away, “the point is, Sam, can you help me get the jump on my bro?” 

“Which?” 

“Either, or, both,” Gabriel says, with a shrug. Castiel can feel the slight tensing of his shoulders and is vaguely aware that it’s his fault Gabriel has gotten involved in the first place; Gabriel had been extremely happy to stay out of the fight and abandon them all together, but… “Luci is the top target, Michael will wait.” 

“Well, the case on Meg will help –” Sam begins, pulling out a stack of papers and flicking through the top stack. Castiel feels the corners of his lips tugging downwards, because he does not like thinking about the lawsuit, his involvement in its provenance be damned. 

“This gay bar of yours got beer?” Dean asks, returning from the toilet but not sitting down. “Unless you wanna sit around talking about your brother’s pissing match.” 

“Yes, we have beer,” Castiel says, standing up hastily. 

“You gonna pay for that burger, Dean?” Sam asks, nodding at Dean’s empty plate over his pile of papers. 

“Nah,” Dean says, “you’ve got it.” 

“Bitch,” Sam calls out, “I’ll be done in half an hour,” 

“Yeah, whatever,” Dean says, clapping Castiel on the shoulder, “beer, then?” 

He winds up behind the bar, which isn’t a place that he particularly wanted to be, and pulling out a beer whilst Dean Winchester collapses into a bar stool opposite looking ever so slightly at home there. It’s all off, though, because the whole place is silent and the lights are turned way up. 

“Level with me here, Cas,” Dean says, pointing his beer at him. Castiel isn’t about to argue with the way the word ‘Cas’ falls off his tongue, despite his dislike of nicknames in general. “What’s a guy like Gabriel want with my brother?” 

Castiel stares at him. 

“I love my brother,” Dean says, “and he’s a damn good lawyer, but he works pro bono cases. And family law, okay? Not this… billionaires having tantrums. This is _way_ above his pay grade. He knows it, I know it, and Gabriel knows it. And I don’t like it.” 

“I’m sure Gabriel has his reasons.” 

“Yeah,” Dean says, “and I want in on them.” 

“In a way, this is family law.” Dean huffs a laugh and rolls his eyes. “Gabriel intents to either ruin Lucifer or himself, Dean. I am sure either way your brother is somewhat protected. In terms of his reasoning… Gabriel has never been precisely conventional.” 

“Awesome,” Dean says, “that is reassuring. Alright, so, this Purgatory place…” 

“It’s Gabriel’s institution,” Castiel says, “He pulled me in to take over the day to day running three months ago, unfortunately.” 

“You don’t like it?” Dean asks him, glancing around the place himself. “So quit.” 

“Aren’t you on the wrong side of the bar to be providing life advice? I was under the impression that was supposed to be my job.” 

Dean smiles slightly. 

“All right, bad habit,” He says, “Used to bar tend to help Sam through college,” he leans forward slightly, smile pulling at the corner of his lips, “I got good tips.” 

Castiel’s half way to forming the thought _‘I don’t doubt it’_ into actual words before he thankfully manages to stop himself; despite the fact that Dean is Sam’s brother, he’s still probably straight and entirely out of Castiel’s league and he hates rich people on principle, anyway. 

“Yes,” Castiel says instead, which he isn’t entirely sure is much better. Dean is staring at him still, trying to work him out. He looks amused at Castiel’s comment, so Castiel decides he doesn’t really mind looking stupid. “I’m only forced behind the bar on ‘Rainbow Wednesdays’ which is enough.” 

“Rainbow Wednesdays?” Dean questions, “Dude, you really need to quit.” 

“Before Gabriel offered me this job, I was working at the Gas n’ sip under the name Steve.” 

“Steve?” Dean questions, raising an eyebrow, “There’s a story there, man, I can feel it. Wanna swap sides of the bar?” 

Castiel doesn’t answer, because as much as Dean is slightly beautiful and has already filled his whole quota of social interaction for the week, he doesn’t much feel like dragging out the mess that is their family business. “Look, Cas,” Dean says, leaning a little more into his personal space again, “I’m not asking you to spy on your brother, but if you do get wind of why the hell he’s picked _Sam_ of all people… maybe you could give me a call?” He’s suggesting, pulling out a business card and pushing it in his direction. 

Castiel stares at the slip of paper, absorbing it. He hadn’t precisely pinned Dean down as the type to carry round business cards, but the card lists a mechanics and Dean’s is the third number down on the list. 

Also, Dean just gave him his _number._

“Of course,” Castiel says, pocketing the card with his own half a smile. “My brother is very keen on just deserts,” He continues, “it’s very possible he just thought your brother deserved the chance.” 

“Well hell yeah he deserves it,” Dean says, “that kid…” he pauses, as Gabriel and Sam re-enter from the side of the building, and raises his voice slightly “…is a frigging girl, with a stupid haircut, who never remembers when we’re supposed to do lunch.” 

Sam cringes slightly. 

“You want me to drive you back to Bobby’s?” Sam suggests. 

“Nah,” Dean says, “baby’s waiting for me outside.” 

Castiel feels something in his chest stick slightly. Oh. Of course. 

_Girlfriend._

“Well, we shouldn’t keep her waiting,” Sam says, all laden with sarcasm and a smile he doesn’t quite manage to pin down. “Thanks, Gabriel, Castiel.” 

“For the beer,” Dean says, pulling out _entirely_ too much money and setting it down with a wink. “And for the record,” Dean continues, quiet and close, “I reckon you'd do all right with tips, too.” 

Then they’re both heading to the exit, Castiel is beginning to realise that he _still_ hasn’t done anything in regards to the questionable smell coming from one of the booths, and Gabriel is turning towards him with the sort of grin which usually means nothing good. 

“I’m inviting Sam back next Tuesday,” Gabriel says, practically vibrating with glee. 

"That’s the day Sam and Dean are supposed to have lunch together,” Castiel protests. 

“Exactly, little bro,” Gabriel grins, clapping a hand over his shoulder, “Exactly.” 

*** 

The second time Dean Winchester and Castiel Novak meet, they’re both in slightly better moods. 

Although Castiel had long since discovered that it was better not to take Gabriel at his word, he had thought – or perhaps half hoped – that Gabriel would actually make good on his plans this time. The fact that Gabriel had texted him informing him that ‘lanky and chisel chest’ would be joining them for lunch had made the usual post-cleaners-clean of the club slightly less ardours, disturbing white stains none withstanding. 

Still, he wasn’t expecting the way something in his stomach loosened slightly when he heard the not-quite-familiar sounds of Dean and Sam’s ribbing each other in the doorway. He reminded himself, for possibly not the first time, that Dean had a girlfriend and had given his number for entirely innocent reasons. 

“ – whatever, Sasquatch,” Dean says, “you’re still always gonna be that kid who ate fourteen boxes of lucky charms and asked his first grade teacher to marry his Dad, so…” 

“Hey, Cas,” Sam says. Castiel is entirely sure that this is the first time Sam’s ever used Dean’s nickname; his mind is processing this as ‘they must have spoken about me at some point’ (or more accurately, Dean must have mentioned me), before he forces his brain back into the realms of sanity. The most likely explanation was that Dean mentioned grilling Castiel for information about Gabriel’s hiring decisions. Or not. He’s sure Dean organised that conversation away from Sam for a reason. 

“Sam, Dean,” Gabriel says, stepping out of the backroom with his usual grin, “Sorry for running date night again, Dean.” 

“Shut up,” Dean says, “Cas, you wanna get lunch with me? My ass of a brother’s standing me up.” 

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel says, “I’m not currently needed here, so…” 

“So, burgers?” Dean says, “And pie. Your café serve pie, Gabe?” 

He doesn’t wait for an answer and instead heads straight to the dividing entrance to the café, glancing back once and nodding at Castiel to follow him. Castiel glances at Sam and Gabriel before registering that they’re waiting for him, too, and following Dean into the café. 

To his mild surprise, Dean has picked a table for two. 

“Not listening to that lawyery crap again,” Dean says, kicking the chair out of him, “You good, Cas? How was Rainbow Wednesday?” 

“Awful,” Cas returns, sitting down opposite Dean feeling slightly wrong footed. “A patron got wind of the angelic origin of my name, and started a club wide contest of angel related pick-up lines. Eurhythmics was requested three times. I detest pet names.” 

“You get the Robbie William’s one?” 

“Twice,” Castiel returned, very seriously. “There are a great number of songs about angels, Dean, and I find a great number of them to be inaccurate representations of the way angels are described in the bible.” 

Dean looks as if he finds this whole comment positively hilarious and looks at Cas as though he genuinely values Castiel’s somewhat longwinded rant about angelic law, which probably smacks a little too much about the strict religious upbringing that the Novaks are publically known for. 

He spends the next thirty minutes blissfully sharing inane conversation with Dean Winchester about bad pick-up lines, angels and his perspective on various religious entities (although conversations slows down after their food arrives), whilst Dean bats back with further awful pick up line suggestions and a grin that Castiel can’t shake out of his head. 

His blissful delusion that this is almost a date (despite the fact that both of their brothers are sat a table a way, discussing how they can legally ruin Castiel’s older brother), is shattered by one throw away sentence. 

“Left baby at home today,” Dean says, before picking up another chip, “Gotta rely on Sam to get me home instead.” 

Castiel’s mood gets considerably worse after that. 

*** 

The fourth or fifth time Gabriel sabotages the Winchester’s Tuesdays, Dean asks him whether he still has his number. Every time Castiel moves around the kitchen in his apartment, he is achingly aware of the business card stuck to the fridge, but he manages to answer ‘yes’ without the attached emotions. 

Dean nods and reminds him he can call. 

Forty minutes of dissection later, Castiel realises that Dean did not specify that he could call _about his brother_ but simply that he _could call._

**** 

“Dean,” Gabriel says, at the point where Castiel has lost count of the number of Tuesdays he has spent in a similar fashion, “You’re almost becoming a permanent fixture.” 

“Given up trying to get my Sasquatch of a brother to fit me into his busy schedule,” Dean quips back, “Anyway, Gabe, I like you’re burgers and you’re not so bad for a business dick. Hey, Cas,” Dean continues, sidling up to the bar like he belongs there, “you coming for lunch?” 

Before Castiel has finished nodding Dean has sent him one of those smiles, and is disappearing into the café next door. 

“I don’t think it’s just the burgers he likes,” Gabriel says. 

“You think, Sherlock?” Sam asks, shaking his head slightly. 

Castiel spends a very long time trying to convince himself that he doesn’t know what either of them meant, because thinking about the implications of their suggestion is extremely dangerous. 

*** 

The first time Castiel Novak texts Dean, he agonises over the text message for close to thirty minutes before he finally sends it. 

_Today my brother suggested that he found your Sam’s hair humorous, but I doubt that had any impact on his hiring decision._

Dean replies almost instantly. 

_Dude, his hairs frigging hilarious. Everyone finds Sam’s hair funny._

Castiel forces himself to wait the length of time it takes to make his coffee before allowing himself to reply. He renames self-enforced restraint in answering text messages from Dean Winchester as purgatory, gay bar be damned. 

_I have never been particularly amused by your brother’s hair, although I will allow it is an unusual length for someone of his gender._

Castiel places his phone face down on the kitchen counter and takes a sip of his coffee. Texting Dean is dangerous purely by virtue of the fact that Castiel hasn’t felt this drawn to anyone, well ever, and the more he allows himself to be pulled in the more he's talking himself into believing things that aren’t true. As much as it sometimes feels like they’re on the edge of something, when they get locked in one of those staring contests and Dean says ‘personal space, Cas’ but doesn’t move away, he’s painfully aware that he’s fabricating those fictions all by himself. 

His phone vibrates twice, but he ignores it and takes a shower. 

* 

He finally checks his phone during an ebb of bar traffic. There are two messages, sent within two minutes of each other. 

_Was gonna double check this was you as you never said. But yeah pretty sure no one else texts like that._

_Contact added :)_

*** 

The day Castiel realises he is hopelessly in love, there’s alcohol involved. 

Something to do with the lawsuit seems to be going better than expected, so Gabriel insists on taking them all out for a drink to ‘celebrate the future victory.’ His brother’s celebrations tend to get out of control fairly quickly, so Castiel is almost relieved when Gabriel says they’ll be staying in Purgatory (a sentiment which he relays to Dean via text message, but that Dean doesn’t particular share). His brother is business minded enough that he tends _not_ to start fires or riots in his own bars. 

“It’s a gay bar, Dean,” Sam grouses, “not an eternal insult to your masculinity.” 

“Cas _told_ me what people have done on these seats,” 

“Hey,” Gabriel interjects, with a round of drinks and some of the fluorescent shots that are usually a Rainbow Wednesday special, “this is a fine establishment.” 

“Says the guy with a brothel in Prague.” 

“It’s not a brothel,” Sam says, balking at Gabriel’s raise of the eyebrows, “What? I had to check you out legally.” 

“That is so beyond the call of duty,” Gabriel says, nursing one of his usual highly colourful highly sugared drinks with a grin, “this is why I like you, Sam. Can only imagine what Luci’s lawyers might have stumbled across if they dug into his affairs…” 

“I am not drunk enough to discuss our family, Gabriel.” 

“So he’s bent?” Dean asks, glancing at Castiel for a moment. 

“He’s practically circular, as Castiel would –” 

“-Gabriel,” Castiel interjects, voice sharp. 

“Hey, don’t shoot the messenger angel,” Gabriel says, usual playful expression slipping into something more serious, “you bought me in, Cassie. Remember that.” 

“All right,” Dean says, “Let’s drop the family talk. No mention of the other frigging Novaks.” 

“And what of the Winchesters?” Castiel asks, because he’s endlessly curious about Dean and that extends to his family, too. In the entirety of their conversations Dean has mentioned an Ellen, a Bobby and Jo, who he seems to consider as family but who are not actually blood relatives. He’s heard Dean rib Sam about respecting the person who bought him up, filed away mentions of motels and putting Sam through college. Dean has never mentioned his parents. 

“Nothing to say there,” Dean says, plucking one of the colourful shots off the table and considering it, “Last Winchesters standing.” 

Castiel’s lips form into an O that he never voices, because he’s entirely sure that’s exactly what he expected. Dean’s expression remains blank as he takes a swig of his beer, only looking away for a few seconds before his eyes flick back up to Castiel’s. 

“Dean,” Sam begins, big eyes and twisted expression pointing towards his brother for a moment. 

“What?” Dean asks, glancing at him, “I gotta ask, though,” Dean continues, turning to raise an eyebrow at Castiel and Gabriel, “What was your Dad smoking when he named you lot?” 

“Daddy worked in mysterious ways,” Gabriel snorts, raising his glass, “here’s to overthrowing Lucifer.” 

“Jesus,” Dean mutters, reaching for his glass, “It’s a good job I don’t need a decent reason to drink.” 

* 

If nothing else, the night has convinced Castiel that his brother is definitely planning something regarding himself and Dean Winchester which Dean, forgoing all logical assumptions, doesn’t seem to be particularly bothered by. He’d merely laughed the first time Gabriel had suggested, over the straw of another sugary sweet cocktail, that Dean go help Castiel with their next round of drinks. 

The second time, Dean had actually suggested it himself. 

“I’m sorry about your parents, Dean,” Castiel says, tongue loosened by an hour of drinking coloured shots and beers. 

“S’okay, happened a while ago now,” Dean returns, “Sorry your family are such douche bags,” Dean continues, gaze dragging over Cas as if he can see right through him, “Gabe isn’t so bad.” 

They’re standing close in part due to the intention of getting closer to the bar, which is fairly full for a Thursday night, but Dean’s arm is a hot line against his own and it’s strangely comforting in a way that Castiel is not going to allow himself to think about. 

“You ever… wonder what happened to your Dad?” 

It’s one of the first times Castiel’s ever been glad that the Novak’s business is known to almost every citizen in America, because Dean can simply zone in on the question without Castiel having to fill in the context himself. 

“Yes,” Castiel says, glancing back to Gabriel for a second before turning back to Dean. The bartender passes over them because they’re looking at each other rather than the drinks list, but Castiel is strangely relieved. He wants to have this conversation with Dean, despite trying to avoid it as much as possible over the past few months. 

“Our Dad went missing once,” Dean says, “Grabbed Sam from California soon as his summer vacation started and we went searching for him. Drove all over America.” 

“You found him?” 

“Yeah,” Dean says, and there’s a story there, Castiel is sure of it, “we found him.” 

“I planned to search for him,” Castiel says, glancing down at the bar, “but in the end I realised that he didn’t care and that it wasn’t a fight I wanted anything to do with.” 

“So?” 

“So I joined the army,” Castiel continues, “with some romantic notion that fighting a different battle would drive the sibling warfare out of my head.” 

“Knew it,” Dean says, lips twisting up into a smile, “I _knew_ you did something before all this. I didn’t think army, but yeah, knew there was something.” 

“How?” 

“Oh, come on,” Dean says, “You’re all super intense about things and then completely impassive. You’re like the definition of someone who needs a purpose, Cas, and I don’t mean a frigging sales assistant or a bartender.” 

“There was a great human dignity working at the Gas n’ Sip,” Castiel says, utterly serious, “I found it both humbling and satisfying.” 

“If that was true you wouldn’t have quit,” Dean says, curving his whole body round to face him, the bar be damned. 

He's not surprised that Dean doesn't understand the sentiment, because Dean was forced to work up from the bottom whilst Castiel was handed everything. For Dean, there _would_ be no dignity in working hard for minimum wage, because the dollars would never stretch far enough. 

“Gabriel needed me.” 

“To work the bar?” Dean asks. He’s not judging him, either; he’s just trying to understand. It’s been a long time since anyone bothered trying to dig beneath the surface of all that is Castiel and drag out how he actually feels from underneath. To his brothers, feelings were irrelevant in comparison to actions and, besides, he was never an important player. 

“Gabriel is…” Castiel begins. 

“Trying to set us up,” Dean suggests, glancing back at the table where their brothers are sat for a moment. He doesn’t sound annoyed about the suggestion, more amused than anything, but his expression is a challenge that Castiel isn’t quite sure how to respond to. 

“Yes,” Castiel says, frankly, “I think so.” 

Dean laughs. 

“He does things like that,” Castiel says, brow furrowing, “He’s been attempting to socialise me since I was sixteen, when he broke into the house and discovered that I didn’t have any porn, alcohol or drugs hidden in my room.” 

Dean is looking at him, lips curved up in amusement, green eyes sparkling. He reaches a hand out and claps it over Castiel’s shoulder. He looks almost _affectionate_ in a way that only Gabriel and Lucifer have ever done. Mostly, Castiel is considered useful, or a liability, or slightly annoying and awkward. Gabriel mostly laughs at him, a distinction that he has made clear on a number of occasions. Lucifer was probably trying to manipulate him, because that’s what Lucifer has _always_ done. But, Dean… he has no explanation for that. 

“Never change, Cas,” Dean says. 

Castiel is still blinking at him when Dean turns around and finally orders their drinks, which is probably the moment when he realises he’s completely gone on Dean Winchester, an orphaned mechanic who brought up his brother, drove across America to find a dead father he never talks about and looks at Cas like he’s worth something. 

* 

After too many of the rainbow coloured shots and the realisation that he might be in love with Dean Winchester, Castiel is beginning to feel slightly drunk. 

He hasn’t drank alcohol in large quantities since college, other than the night he Gabriel conceded to both reconnect with him and go forward with the lawsuit. That night had resulted in Castiel’s first experience of coming out to a family member (Gabriel had later given him points for the dramatic method of doing so; apparently his brother had pulled himself away from the stripper he was chatting up to see Castiel going home with a very male someone, although Castiel’s own memories of that night were hazy at best) and subsequently been given Gabriel’s gay bar to run as a drawn out walk of shame. 

It shouldn’t be a surprise that the alcohol is affecting him, but the level of drunkenness still seems to have taken him unawares. 

Castiel returns from the bar to find that Gabriel is retelling the story of Castiel’s first credit card and that Dean has got him another drink he definitely doesn’t need. 

“Bottoms up, Cas,” Dean says, as Castiel slides into the vacant seat next to him (Gabriel’s further work, possibly with the aid of Sam Winchester). He wants to be slightly irritated by the fact that Dean has forgone Cas request of water to get him what looks like whiskey, but then he’s very bad at sustaining irritation at Dean for a long period of time. Or more, his irritation burns in equal measure along the unsalable desire to reach out and move closer to the man. 

It’s very irritating, actually, to want someone utterly attainable who acts available. 

“Anyway,” Gabriel continues, “So, none of us were actually expecting Cassie to _spend_ any money, because it’s Castiel; guy wore the same trench coat for three years before Zachariah burnt it. Bill comes through at a couple of hundred thousand more than any of the rest of us ever managed.” 

Castiel gulps down the rest of the alcohol in his glass, gaze fixed on the drops at the bottom. He dislikes the way Gabriel tells stories about him, but in particular he’s not keen on his brother’s blatant manipulation of Dean. Rather than the weary disbelief he’d receive from members of his family, he suspects Gabriel has chosen this story for his arsenal purely it’s the kind of thing that Dean would look kindly on, even if no one had at the time. 

“A couple of hundred thousand,” Sam repeats, eyes flicking in Castiel’s direction. “ _How?_ ” 

“My first guess was he’d brought a plane to get the hell away from dodge, but no. The mad fucker had gone straight to the hospital and started paying stranger’s medical bills.” 

Dean’s gaze is hot on the side of his neck and he finds himself looking up to meet it on instinct. The affectionate expression from before is back, but slanted with some righteous anger that Castiel doesn’t know how to decode. It’s not directed at him, exactly, but it’s probably connected to the number of zeroes in his bank account. 

“Course, no one was ever gonna trust him with a business after that,” Gabriel continues, smirking, “And credit card privileges were revoked. He pretended to lose and sold fifteen mobile phones in order to continue aiding one man’s cancer treatment.” 

“Gabriel,” Castiel warns, because his own version of the story is twisted with the desire to both irritate his family and receive some kind of attention from _someone._ The prospect of actually helping someone had been a motivation, but the act was hardly a pure one; in a family where money was the only purpose, it seemed the only way to rebel was to give it away. 

“Plus, I don’t think he knew how to work a phone till after he was discharged from the army.” 

He hadn’t _mentioned_ the discharge and he finds himself grappling for a read on Dean’s expression, to somehow have real access to his mind and work out whether or not it changed the way Dean viewed him. Perhaps he was a person who needed a cause, but that didn’t presuppose that he ever actually won any. Instead, he could divide his life up into failed causes that died shortly after he’d attempted to be useful. 

Castiel feels quite startled to note that Dean has an arm casually stretched out along the back of the booth and that his hand is just inches away from brushing against his shoulder. 

“Dude,” Dean says, “is that why you always take so long to text back?” 

He hadn’t thought it possible for his brother to look more self-satisfied, but his smirk winded further. Castiel felt a twinge of irritation, as he usually did in regards to Gabriel’s behaviour, and found his own lips folding into a slight frown. 

Dean's forefinger reached out that extra inch and brushed against the line of his shoulder. He could barely feel the touch through the layers of fabric, but he felt the gesture enough to compensate. 

Castiel’s head was spinning and he wasn’t entirely sure he could fully blame it on the alcohol, because Dean’s whole expression was saying _I’m joking Cas, it’s okay, Cas_ and Castiel was staring at him and Dean was staring right back. 

In his peripheries, Gabriel was dragging Sam up to the bar under some pointless pretence that none of them really believed, but it was difficult to really focus on anything beyond the boundaries of Dean, the scent of leather that never really left him, and their continued staring at each other. 

“Could’ve really done with someone to pick up the medical bills a couple of times,” Dean says, voice lower than normal. Castiel wants to protest that that’s precisely why Gabriel brought the matter up and that the number of good things Castiel has done has been far outweighed by the bad, but he also seems incapable of actually informing Dean about his lists of flaws and mistakes. It’s all listening to the wrong person and trusting Michael, only to realise his thin veil of good intentions were just arrogance and the desire to appear righteous when, in actual fact, he’d completely missed those he was walking all over to do so. He _wants_ to tell Dean about the fuck up with the pension funds, how listening to Michael had resulted in thousands of people losing their jobs and how he’d got lost in all the business mumbo jumbo and forgotten that there were _people suffering_ , but the words die in his throat because – 

Dean’s gaze, momentarily, shifts to his lips. 

Gabriel, or indeed any of his brother, would be happy to report on Castiel’s ineptitude at understanding other’s emotions, but even he understands what that means. One of the reasons Castiel so often finds himself locked gazed with Dean is because it means he’s not taking in the curve of his lips or the subtle corners of any of his smiles. It’s a concentrated effort, but he’s been managing because Dean is both most probably straight, has a girlfriend and therefore is not interested him in that way. 

Except for the part where it very much seems like he _is_ and Castiel’s slightly drunken thought process is definitely behind the idea if pressing their lips together and knowing for sure. 

Castiel senses Dean edge closer by the way the air seems warmer than normal. He can feel the very possibility of their knees touching, Dean reaching forward and cupping hand under his chin, green eyes closing… 

He rips his gaze away to turn to stare at the empty shot glasses sitting on the table. 

“How long has _‘baby’_ been around?” Castiel asks, before he remembers to stop himself. He doesn’t manage to stop the almost cruel, mocking way his lips form the word either. He’s never heard Dean refer to her as anything else and the alcohol is hampering his judgement. 

Instead of looking vaguely guilty, Dean looks more confused than anything else. 

“Uh, couple of years before Dad died,” Dean says, “Fifteen years, maybe? Before that she –“ 

“– excuse me,” Castiel says, standing up before he can do anything stupid. He needs to extract himself from Dean’s hand on his shoulder and gaze on his lips. 

_Fifteen years._ The maths works out that Dean was probably still a teenager, which lines Castiel’s gut with an unflattering mixture of emotions that he doesn’t like. He suspects that she’s probably very pretty. She would also have been there, somewhere, whilst Dean was working sixty hour weeks to put Sam through law school. And the summer they went on a road trip to find their father. This girlfriend has fifteen years of Dean’s life that Castiel has no right to be jealous over, but he’s finding it difficult to stumble towards rationality when he’s drank so many rainbow shots. 

“Casssieee,” Gabriel beams, slurring slightly as he beckons him over to the bar. Sam is retreating back to their table, which at least means Castiel doesn’t have to look Sam in the eye and think about what he’d very much like to let happen, if it wasn’t for the hard wall of his morals that the other fuck ups led to. “Sooo, you tapping that?” 

“He has a girlfriend, Gabriel,” Castiel says, stomach burning with something as he forces out the words. He dislikes feeling this despondent anger when he has no one to pin it too. Feelings are so unapologetically useless when they can neither be rationalised or utilised. 

“Really?” Gabriel asks, looking genuinely surprised, “Doesn’t look like he much cares, at the moment.” Castiel risks a glance back towards the table. Dean is watching him, unabashed, as Sam tries to engage him in conversation. Castiel swallows. 

“I know.” 

“And you can’t do it,” Gabriel says, “and after all the work I put in, too.” 

“I think I’m going to be sick,” Castiel says, fingers tightening over the bar. 

Gabriel’s features soften. 

“All right, kiddo,” Gabriel says, “I’ll make your excuses. Get your ass in a cab and tend to your wounded pride… oh, and don’t throw up on yourself, Cassie, the rainbow shots are a bitch to dry clean.”


	2. Chapter 2

Dean Winchester is not entirely sure when the whole Cas thing became a thing. 

He's pretty sure the reason he _first_ started trying to flirt with Cas was to piss Sam off, because he was pretty fed up of his Sam time being diluted by business meetings and dick lawyers (even if Gabe turned out to be pretty okay, in the end). 

At some point he'd oh-so-casually asked Gabriel what the deal with Cas was, anyway, because the dude spent most of the time looking permanently confused, a little bit lost and, course, fucking gorgeous. Still, the stiff other-worldly way of talking and the formal, clipped tone was pretty different from Gabriel's permanent state of borderline inappropriate, and it was interesting. Not because they were Novaks, because Dean had never really given a flying fuck about the Novaks, but because they were brothers and yet so different. Not in the way that he and Sammy were different, either, but completely, unrecognisably related. 

Gabriel had given him a scope that was almost definitely half the story and cost him a week of knowing looks from Sam. He got a couple of vague details out of his discomfort though, though. Cas had been somehow led into the crapper (direct quote) and Gabe was helping him out with a job that was almost entirely a joke, because a week after he'd found Cas in the freaking Midwest, Cas had come out rather dramatically by having a one night stand with a guy from Purgatory. The only other thing of note from Gabriel was that that incident was almost definitely the last time Castiel Novak got laid. 

Which was a frigging tragedy, as well as explaining _a lot_ about the permanent stick up Cas’ ass... but, it was okay, because Dean had definitely got it covered. 

Sam had accepted Dean's latest mission with a well-worn weariness, but otherwise didn't really mention it much. All plans Sam had with Gabriel suddenly expanded to include Dean and Cas, too, until Dean started up at Purgatory to see Cas whenever he felt like. He'd worked his way under Cas's cold exterior slightly and was beginning to get a grip on who exactly Castiel Novak actually was, anyway. Castiel was about as oblivious as a brick wall, so it had taken quite a bit of hinting to get the guy to frigging text him, and even now Cas reliably took at least three hours to respond... but, hey, at least the guy always did. 

And now Dean is slightly drunk and watching a definitely slightly more drunk Castiel talking to his brother at the bar. His had far too many rainbow shots and, on some level, he’s basically aware he’s just staring at the guy’s back… but it’s kinda hard to care. 

"I'm so in there," Dean says, to take focus away from the staring thing. He's not entirely expecting Sam to elbow him in the shoulder, hard. "What?" Dean asks, because Sam is giving him that if-we-weren't-brother's-we'd-never-be-friends sort of look, which would also probably be true if Dean hadn't essentially bought him up. He often thinks that this is the only possible universe in which him and Sam wind up talking to each other, but that usually leads down that familiar road of self-hatred which he is categorically not going down today. 

"Seriously?" Sam asks. 

"What?" Dean asks again, because it's not exactly a secret that he's been chasing Cas from the off. 

"You're such a jerk, sometimes," Sam says, glancing down at his drink and sighing, "Dean, you like Cas." 

"Yeah," Dean agrees because, yeah, that's not exactly headline news. 

" _As in_ you like him enough that you shouldn't fuck this up with drunken sex, just because you can." 

"We're grown ass men, Sam, I'm pretty sure –” 

“– you have feelings for him, you idiot." 

"I have _what_ now?" 

"Feelings," Sam says, turning to face him, "It's not a new concept, Dean, you've been interested in people before.” 

“Don’t mean I’m into Cas,” Dean says, blinking at him. 

“He’s like your best friend,” Sam says. Sam is that stage of slightly drunk where he’s liable to get lost in emotional dialogues, so it’s not really all that surprising that his branding Dean with this _feelings_ bullshit. Sure, he _likes_ Cas, but this whole thing is not a big deal. “You text and go on lunch dates and, what, now you think you can take him back to yours then cut and run in the morning? He’s you’re only damn friend in this state, Dean. And you’re his.” 

“I’m talking about a damn one night stand, Sam, quit dissecting me.” 

“You started this because you decided Cas needed to get laid, right?” Sam asks, gaze challenging. 

“Yes,” Dean says, because that’s comfortable ground that he understands. 

“Because it had been, what, four months?” 

“Get to the point, Sam.” 

“It’s been four months since then, Dean. _You_ haven’t slept with anyone since then.” 

Dean’s head is spinning ever so slightly, because the buzz of the many, many rainbow shots is letting him be more honest with himself than he’s usually allowed to be. His gaze drags back to Cas at the bar, except – 

"Dammnit," Dean says, "He's leaving, I should...” 

He’s standing up, ready to make after him and demand an explanation of what’s wrong. Five minutes ago he was half thanking Cas for paying strangers medical bills, arm practically around him and so _goddamn_ close to something he’s been half reaching for for months. 

"Dean," Sam says, grabbing his arm, "why don't you try your luck with someone else?" 

He has the stupid knowing expression that makes Dean want to punch him plastered all over his face, but it's probably bad form to start a bar fight in Gabriel's pub. 

"We're in a gay bar," Dean defends. 

"And you _like men."_

 _ _He’s always failed to explain to Sammy the reasons why gay bars make him feel uncomfortable. Sam’s tried to dissect his aversion on multiple times, but Dean usually closes the second the subject his sexuality is broached. It doesn’t need to be talked about. It is what it is and, anyway, it mostly boils down to a couple of harmless infatuations with cowboys, Hans Solo and Doctor Sexy. They’re bad ass fictional men that don’t really exist, and definitely don’t exist in his conception of gay bars. Sure, there are a couple of rolls in the hay scattered across the past decade, but it’s a small proportion of his sexual history.__

 _ _

So, yeah, Dean doesn’t like gay bars. It’s no doubt all wrapped up in his masculinity complex, John Winchester and a couple of reside issues to do with how he’d always _thought_ of dudes who liked dudes, before he came to accept that he was one of them. 

“Not the kind of men you find in gay bars,” 

Sam’s giving him another of those looks but, as he’s told his shit of a little brother on a number of occasions; Dean’s sexuality or sexuality issues are not up for discussion. 

“Cas works in a gay bar,” 

He hates it when Sam pulls out his logic on him. 

“Back off, Sam,” Dean says, glancing towards the door again. This pointless interruption has made him lose Cas, which means he has to go back to his crappy apartment alone tonight. He feels slightly mournful in a way that he’d rather not think about too much. 

“Dean, it’s _okay_ to have attachment issues after everything with Dad and and, Dean,” Sam says, clutching at his drink, “Dean, you’re my brother and…” 

“And we’re not having this conversation,” Dean spit backs. 

“I know you’re still dealing with the aftermath of Lisa, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to let you fuck this up with Cas.” 

Dean balks at the mention of Lisa. 

“She’s got nothing to do with Cas,” Dean says, too loudly, because he’s a little bit drunk and there’s some painful epiphany shifting in his chest. 

“So you failed at the picket fence life, Dean, that doesn’t mean –” 

“God damn, Sam!” Dean says, throwing his hands up, “You can’t just ambush me with this feeling crap, okay, I don’t… She’s got nothing to do Cas. None of this has got anything to do with Cas.” 

Dean is beginning to realise this might just have _everything_ to do with Cas. 

Fuck. 

Dean sits down. 

Sam has decided to go silent at the exact moment Dean would like him to speak, because his head hurts from all the silence and, damn it, all he wanted to was get drunk and maybe get laid. His hangover appears to be kicking in prematurely and, also, he might _actually_ be a lot more into Cas than previously noted. 

Gabriel is suddenly behind him looking slightly pissed and a little bit scary. Dean mutely notes that Gabriel probably overheard them talking about the whole Cas thing, which is bad news. He probably came across as a dick. 

Gabriel slams down Dean’s drink in front of him in a way that sloshes quite a bit of liquid down his front and pretty much confirms that Gabriel is pissed. 

Dean slouches down against the booth and sips the turquoise monstrosity Gabriel practically poured down his front. It actually takes pretty good, for a girl drink. 

“So Cas really took the party vibe with him, huh?” Dean mutters, as the three of them sit there in near silence looking irritated at each other. Sam looks like he wants to carry on trying to convince Dean that he has feelings like a real human being, but Dean doesn’t want to feel like a human being; he wants to feel slightly numbed and flat, because it’s less confusing and painful than this bullshit. 

He stays for approximately five more minutes, before someone apparently requested the YMCA and Dean realises he absolutely cannot take it anymore. 

* 

Dean gives himself four days to get over his hangover, his slightly dented pride and his irritation at Sam for springing that feeling crap on him when he was least expecting it. 

On some level, he’s sure he would have worked out at _some point_ that he was actually into Cas as more than a project and, honestly, he probably had been from the beginning. Maybe it would have been several hours after an awkward morning after when he’d already messed it up, but he’s pretty sure he would have worked it out at some point. 

Instead, he got the memo early enough that he’s actually got to approach this whole thing forwards, which is something he hasn’t done for a very long time. 

So, there’s that. 

“Sammy,” Dean says into his phone, slumped against the side of his kitchen counter with his free hand distractedly rubbing the back of his neck. “Hey.” 

“Hey Dean,” Sam returns. He doesn’t sound pissed off or superior like Dean half expected, but then Dean doesn’t usually leave it four days between phone calls (particularly when they’ve left it on bad terms). 

“So, uh,” Dean says, “You might be right about the Cas thing.” 

“You want me to come over?” 

“Bring pizza,” Dean says, hanging up and finding himself a beer. 

He can do this. He can like definitely do this. 

**** 

The morning after Castiel’s sex life becomes victim to his morals, Gabriel takes him out for breakfast. 

When they were younger, their father had a tradition of taking them out for breakfast whenever any of the Novak boys did something wrong. It had stemmed from biblical teachings and their father’s self-reported desire to show them that he loved them _even when_ they failed exams, spent thousands of dollars on strippers or were found in possession of illegal drugs. The problem, Castiel had since decided, was that successes generally received a passing cursory comment, whilst failures involved a full thirty minutes of their father’s undivided attention, the sort of diner food they weren’t allowed normally and _real affection._ He’d spent the morning after his first real misadventure (an incident at school involving a dispute with a boy named Crowley) having bacon and maple syrup pancakes whilst his father simultaneously told him off for disobeying and informed him that he was still loved and valued for the individual he was. 

Somehow, it had shifted to also include whenever something went wrong. After Lucifer left the family business to greener pastures, they’d all had waffles. And, when several months later, their father had disappeared, _Michael_ had practically force fed them scrambled eggs. 

Now, he’s been subjected to an alarming display of Gabriel’s eating habits. Watching the amount of syrup and sugar Gabriel heaps on top of his pancakes makes him feel vaguely ill, which isn’t helped by the hangover or the knowledge that this whole event revolves solely around Dean Winchester. 

“Well,” Gabriel says, as he heaps his fifth packet of sugar into his coffee, “I always thought Deano was missing some vital component upstairs. Sam’s the smart one.” 

Castiel finds his mouth twisting into a line of displeasure that he doesn’t voice, because being stupid is one of Dean’s hang ups that isn’t true; Dean _could_ have easily gone to college and studied had he not been looking after his brother. He had other priorities. 

“And Sammy’s taller,” 

“Dean’s not exactly short, Gabriel.” Castiel mutters tersely, glancing at his mostly untouched bacon sandwich. He _had_ thrown up a great number of the rainbow shots after getting back to his apartment, although thankfully into the toilet and not over any of his clothing, and there isn’t a single part of his body that seems inclined to forgive him for last night’s events. His chest is particularly prissy with him, whilst his brain is berating him over the temptation in the first place. His stomach is churning, his head’s pounding and his liver certainly doesn’t respect his life choices. None of it is particularly conducive to his appetite. 

“All right,” Gabriel says, “next time I’ll hire a dick lawyer with a superiority complex and an ugly brother.” 

“I _hope_ that didn’t have any bearing on your hiring decisions.” 

“I’d be pretty damn disappointed if it had, little bro.” 

“Well, Father would be proud you’re keeping the tradition alive,” Castiel says, pushing his plate of bacon a little further away from him with a small frown. 

“It’s beyond both of our pay grades to know what the hell Daddy would be proud of, Cassie.” Gabriel counters, stirring his coffee with an expression that reminds Castiel that, beneath the sugary mischievous exterior, Gabriel is as hardened and embittered as the rest of them. 

The morning’s already miserable enough without bringing up their father. 

“I appreciate the bacon,” 

“You need to appreciate it a bit more,” Gabriel says, glancing at the plate and raising his eyebrows, “I paid for that.” 

“It’s your café.” 

“Exactly,” Gabriel says, “bacon doesn’t go on trees, little brother.” 

Castiel takes another mouthful of bacon and chews without really tasting it. If he had his way, he’d be still in bed for a few hours and pretending that the entirety of yesterday didn’t happen, but Gabriel was never all that keen on letting him get his own way (except, of course, those years when Gabriel left and didn’t care what way, direction and opinions he had). 

“You’ll get over it,” Gabriel adds, helpfully, as he stuffs another sugar coated in his gob, “or you could just sleep with him.” Castiel glares are him. “All right, kiddo, no need to get all smitey. I’ll drop it. Although, gotta say Cassie, _I’ve_ never heard him mention a plus one.” 

Castiel remains silent and continues eating his bacon sandwich excessively slowly. He’s half tempted to throw back that Dean doesn’t drop her into conversation often, and never by name, and never in a way which particularly recommends Dean’s character, but he doesn’t really want to go into this with Gabriel (or anyone, really). 

“He was talking about some Lisa yesterday,” Gabriel says, “Although it sounded pretty over.” 

Castiel let’s that slide without comment, because it didn’t sound very over when he asked about it last night; it sounded very much like an ongoing, serious, lifelong partnership. He’s seen Dean’s whole countenance shift when he talks about _‘Baby’_ (or maybe Lisa, if Gabriel is to be believed), and he can’t allow himself to believe some attractive lie. 

Gabriel eats six more pancakes before breakfast is finally over and Castiel is able to concentrate on pretending the whole morning never happened. 

The problem is, after breakfast with Gabriel he can’t help but notice Dean mentioning _‘baby’_ all the time.

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly filler chapter for the purpose of forcing me to fix up the next bit, which is all half written snippets that need pulling together. Actual stuff happens in the next chapter, promise


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just adding an additional warning for homophobia/sexuality issues. There are no instances of this actually occurring within the story, it's just uh... talked about, I guess.
> 
> Also, this chapter got WAY longer than expected.

With the help of a little Dutch courage and Sammy’s god damn cheerleading, Dean Winchester had eventually managed to arrange to meet Cas for lunch; considering that before the incident in Purgatory they’d been having lunch together a few times a week, it didn’t seem like it should be that big a deal. The fact that there’d been a slight overdose of soul searching and sifting through his feeling didn’t exactly come through in the string of messages (which was a good thing) so, from Cas’ perspective, Dean had pretty much just hit on more overtly than he’d ever done previously, then ignored him for just under a fortnight… which probably hadn’t helped matters.

Trouble was, thanks to a last minute freak out and a subsequent need to hide underneath the hood of a really crap Honda until he’d gotten his head on straight, he’d wound up running late. He was still partially covered in grease and only barely fit to be out in public, but he’d screwed himself over in terms of timing. Cas had probably already been sat in Gabe’s café alone for a good ten minutes, and he’s stuck in traffic. 

His phone beeps out a message, which he glances down at whilst waiting for the light to change. 

_Are you still planning on coming for lunch?_

It’s that exact prissy note that Dean can imagine spreading over Cas’ face, and it pulls at the corners of his lips. Still, Cas is slightly irritated and Dean is still over ten minutes away. Damn. 

The light is still resolutely red, so he types out half a text message before dropping the phone onto his lap. He types out the rest a few minutes later, Sam’s familiar rant about texting and driving ringing in his ears. 

He probably should have text before he left. 

_I’m in baby now. Give me ten!_

By the time he hits the next light, Cas has replied. 

_Should you really be texting at the same time?_

Cas is kind of like Sam in ways that Dean finds pretty complicated. They both have that same tendency not to break rules that Dean doesn’t tend to think about and, yeah, he knows he shouldn’t be texting, but he also knows that Cas sitting alone in Gabe’s dinner is a recipe for a frosty dinner, which really isn’t what he’s aiming for with this. 

_You sound like Sam. Nearly there!_

_Don’t bother_ , Cas replies, and then almost immediately, I have to get back to work. 

Dean pulls over to the side of the road. 

“Sonuvabitch,” He mutters, staring at the message. 

For a few minutes he’s just pretty shocked, because he certainly didn’t expect Cas to let him get halfway through town before standing him up. 

Then, he’s irritated. Yeah, he’s was gonna end up near to twenty minutes late, but Cas sounded cold from the off. He doesn’t really know what he’s done wrong here, because he’s never known Cas to be such an asshole about him being late before (and there’s traffic and douche bag customers and all sorts of crap that have made him late at some point over the stretch of their friendship). He’s been stressing about this frigging lunch date (except not date, really, because it’s Gabe’s café, a burger and the same as what they always do), for nearly a week… and then Cas just frigging _cancels_ on him because he’s running slightly late. 

God damn him. 

Dean shoves his phone back in his pocket without replying. He’s certainly not going to try and persuade Cas to give him the time of day when he cancels for no good reason, and instead he turns around and heads back to the garage, vaguely hoping there’s something he can smash later. 

* 

Castiel Novak returns to his station in Purgatory feeling oddly shell-shocked. He pulls out his phone to double check that his latest conversation with Dean Winchester actually just happened. 

He’d stared at the text message for a few long minutes before his brain began to register how utterly inappropriate they were. It wasn’t like Dean was _known_ for keeping things conversationally proper (which was something he’s sure Sam has complained about on a number of occasions), but _that_ was definitely the most inappropriate and generally awful thing Dean had ever sent him. 

He also didn’t particular need that image in his mind, because it had made comprehending how to reply even more difficult. 

He honestly could not _believe_ Dean. 

Particularly given he’d already been fifteen minutes late meeting him to lunch because he was sleeping with his girlfriend (whilst texting him, which was just… incomprehensible), which was very hard not to take as a personal insult. 

Castiel slipped his phone back into his pocket, mind still reeling, and decided once again that cancelling lunch was the correct decision. 

* 

Dean has done that thing where he just _happens_ to drop by and assume that Castiel is free to do lunch, which always leaves Castiel in a state of half flattered half frustrated confusion where he has no idea what Dean wants. He’s not sure if it’s Dean taking advantage of him by assuming that he has nothing better to do, or if it’s Dean somehow expressing a desire to spend time with him. 

He has given up trying to understand Dean Winchester. 

Dean has just slid twenty dollars over to pay the bill for the both of them and Castiel is about to offer to get them both beers to drag lunch out a little longer, when Dean glances at his phone with an expression of horror. 

“Sonuvabitch,” Dean mutters, turning the phone over in his hand, punching a button and bringing it up to his ear in one smooth movement. “Sammy,” Dean says, “What the hell have you done to my baby? Can’t even trust my own brother to look after her for half an hour. What do you mean…? I got a text from Bobby, that’s what…. Yes, Bobby can text. What…I’m with Cas… The hell I deserve it. You leave her the hell alone till I get back, Sam, I swear…” Dean turns his phone over in his hands and glances at Cas with a grimace. 

“Is she okay?” Castiel finds himself asking, although the words taste slightly bitter on the edge of his tongue. One day, he will have successfully gotten over it enough that these snippets of conversation won’t bother him… but he is sure he will also be confused about why Bobby would be texting Dean about something Sam did to Dean’s girlfriend. 

(He’s not concentrating on the fact that Sam says he deserved it when Dean bought up the fact that he was with Cas, because he’s entirely sure that Sam Winchester has picked up on a few of the less than platonic aspects of their relationship. Given how close Sam must also be with _‘baby’_ after over ten years, the idea fills him a unpleasant mixture of shame, embarrassment and reassignment). 

Dean doesn’t look like the news is very devastating, so Castiel assumes it’s one of those things that the brothers bicker about that doesn’t really matter, rather than something serious like Sam sleeping with her, or pushing her off a building. 

“She’ll be fine,” Dean says, “I better go rescue her, though. You free same time next week?” 

“No,” Castiel says, although he is. “Goodbye, Dean.” 

* 

“I haven’t got a damn clue what I’m doing wrong here,” Dean says, as he ceremoniously detaches the iPod jack his jerk of a brother decided to install in his beloved Impala. Sam is leaning on the hood in the parking lot adjacent to his fancy lawyer building, sipping his Starbucks. “One minute, everything’s fine, next thing the guy looks like he wants to smite me,” 

“Hmm,” 

“And dude,” Dean says, levelling his gaze with Sam, “you touch my car again, I will end you.” 

“Just trying to bring you into the twenty first century,” Sam returns. The car is sort of _theirs_ in a lot of the ways that matter, because the Impala was their home and their base for years, so he lets Sam borrow her sometimes… but he draw the lines at frigging iPod jacks. Bitch. 

“Don’t,” Dean says, passing over the iPod and leaning against the side of the Impala with a sigh. 

“So, Cas,” Sam says, fingers curling around his coffee. 

“Dude’s a frigging mystery,” Dean shrugs, staring somewhat dejectedly at his shoes. 

Cas has gotta be one of the most confusing individuals he’s ever met. He thinks he knows the guy pretty well in a lot of ways, because he can read his expressions and tells and knows quite a bit of his history (although there’s still plenty Cas doesn’t feel like bringing up, which is fine)… but then he’ll just switch, and Dean will be faced with a sudden darkening expression for no decipherable reason. 

“You’ve gotta get back to lawyering,” Dean states, because Sam is glancing back towards the door and he can read his brother like a book, no mysteries there. “Can I trust you with these or am I confiscating her?” He asks, holding up the keys. “Take care of my baby, Sam.” 

* 

On a Friday afternoon in which Dean turns up at Purgatory covered in grease and moaning about car problems, Dean leaves with a rather disturbing “Now baby’s all dirty. I better get home and wash her.” 

Castiel nods like this is a normal thing to do, because he has come to the conclusion that Dean is slightly insane. 

* 

Given the fact that all he seems able to do is argue with Cas at the moment, Dean’s given up pushing for anything further for time being. However, it’s difficult to remember things like that when Cas accidentally makes their waitress cry and Dean has to drag him out, laughing. 

“Never change, Cas,” Dean says, clapping a hand on Cas’ shoulder, his smile near enough splitting his face in two. 

And yeah, in regards to his feelings, Dean Winchester is completely screwed. 

* 

They’ve drank slightly too much in a bar that’s nearer Dean’s apartment than his own and somehow the conversation has taken a twist into parenthood; Castiel has dredged up a few choice words about his own childhood that revealed more than he’d intended to give away when he’d started talking and Dean is looking at him like he understands and cares about every single word. 

Castiel has an awareness that he shouldn’t be allowing this conversation, because everything about the exchange of words and feelings is drawing him in. He wants to know everything there is to know about Dean Winchester, and he wants Dean Winchester to know everything about him. There’s something too intimate and dangerous about it, but he’s too curious to put a stop to it. 

“You don’t have to tell me,” Castiel says, watching as Dean regards his beer with a stormy expression. 

“Nah, it’s fine,” Dean says, taking a swig from his beer, “Car crash. Dad… Dad was driving. He died on impact. I… I nearly died, too, was unconscious for a couple of days… woke up and everything had gone to shit. Sam was fine. Baby was pretty screwed up. Soon as they let me out that damn hospital I spent the next couple of weeks fixing her up… that was easier than thinking about Dad, you know? And then suddenly she was fine, and I was okay, and Dad was dead and I didn’t know what the hell to do.” 

“So?” 

“Grabbed baby and ran. Drove till I ran out of gas. Then Sam called and I realised I had to go back, you know, face everything. There was a funeral and crap to deal with. Wound up settled here. Longest I’ve ever stayed in one place.” 

“You miss the road?” 

“Hell yeah,” Dean says, hand closing around his beer, “Some days I just wanna grab baby and get the hell out of dodge. She’s not supposed to be stuck here like this. She needs open roads and wide spaces, but Sam….” 

Castiel would like to ask whether Dean’s girlfriend (who still remains nameless), minds the fact that Dean will continually and always put his brother’s needs first before hers and certainly his own. Now he has extra details to fill in about her being flighty and more like Dean – itching not to settle down but to travel, drive, get away. He wonders if she has any brothers and sisters, because he’s not sure he could begin to fathom the bond between Sam and Dean had he not had complicated relations with his own siblings. 

He can imagine them sitting in the front of Dean’s car, driving together, away from everything. There’s something painfully idyllic about the picture, and Castiel hates the fact that some part of him still wants the picture to crumble. 

“Sammy’s doing real good, here,” Dean says, “Now he’s got your brother on his client list, they’re jobs are really stacking up. He’s ditched his shitty girlfriend and is seeing some vet called Amelia, or something. He’s being pretty cagey about it, but… Sam’s gonna settle here. I ain’t living a couple of days drive away from my brother for nothing. Even if it means sucking it up and only ever getting to drive to Walmart.” 

“It’s good that you had each other after your father’s death,” Castiel says, because he feels that needs addressing. He can imagine Dean weighed down by grief. In his mind, it’s an angry sort of grief, and Baby sits next to him the car in silence and lets him drive, drive, drive away from all of it. 

Dean is giving him a strange look. 

“Well, yeah,” Dean says, “But we’re family.” 

_Family._

The word vibrates around Castiel’s mind for days, reminding him to take a step back and keep his distance. Dean doesn’t just have a _relationship_ with some nameless girl that Castiel has never met, because the years and the hardships that stretch back over the decade has made her _family_. He’s not lusting after the breakup of a fragile, fleeting relationship. He loves Dean in a hopeless futile way, because Dean has already made his family. 

* 

Dean Winchester lies half awake, lost in thought. 

Having Sam after John Winchester’s death kept him sane, kept him driving off the edges of the map ad disappearing into the ether. He can’t imagine how Cas must have felt for all those years he was estranged from his brothers, hiding away in the army and pretending the monumental, public arguments between his brothers were nothing to do with him. 

It makes him want to pull Cas closer into his life, wrap him up in Winchester loyalty and make sure the guy’s never left out on a limb again. 

It’s about frigging time that Cas had a real family. 

* 

Castiel is joining his brother, Sam and Dean for a business lunch in one of Gabriel’s nicer establishments, and the food is incredible. 

“God damn Gabe,” Dean says, through a mouthful of steak, “how come you’ve kept this place hidden so long?” 

Gabe raises an eyebrow and doesn’t answer, instead turning back to Sam to discuss legal strategy. Castiel gets caught up in the conversation, breathing in the ongoing dispute between Michael and Lucifer which seems to have taken over most of his life. 

Dean kicks him under the table. 

“Free later?” Dean asks, drawing Castiel’s attention away from his brother’s quarrels in a way he’s sure was entirely intentional. Dean is certainly much more magnetic and more comfortable to focus on, and his understanding of Castiel’s mood is nothing short of astonishing. “Hey,” Dean says, face brightening, “Could finally introduce to Baby. Can’t believe you haven’t met her yet, actually.” 

“It’s a minor miracle,” Sam agrees. 

“I have plans,” Castiel chokes out, panicking. He absolutely does not want to meet the infamous baby, because he thinks he already hates her. He’s sure that she’s perfectly lovely, but given his infatuation with Dean hasn’t shifted despite his best efforts to the contrary, meeting her and liking her would only make it worse. And if it turned out that she was horrible in some way, he’d be faced with the equally unpleasant task of actually having a _good reason_ to dislike Dean’s girlfriend. 

“What plans?” Dean asks. 

“A date,” Castiel lies, because he can’t think of a single other plan he could possibly have. Gabriel is raising an eyebrow in his direction. Sam is glancing at Dean. Dean leans back in his chair, surprise evident. 

He knows full well that this is the part where someone asks a question which he doesn’t have an answer for, and the disbelief on Dean’s face hurts slightly, and he very much dislikes lying for a number of reasons closely associated with Michael, pension funds and obeying orders with disastrous consequences (for other people, not for Michael himself). 

“Actually, I’m going to be late,” Castiel says abruptly, standing up and half running out of Gabriel’s restaurant. 

Later, when Dean texts him to ask how his date when, Castiel deletes it without replying. 

* 

“I need you, Cas,” Dean Winchester says, walking into Purgatory and slapping his hands on the bar, “Sammy’s being cagey about his new girlfriend. We’re crashing his date.” 

He doesn’t give Cas much chance to protest, and five minutes later he’s got Cas riding shotgun and giving him a look that’s almost entirely disapproving. Still, give Cas hasn’t jumped out of the front windscreen Dean assumes that he’s willing to go along with Dean’s slight idiocy, even if just for a little while. 

Cas had a date last week (a date which he’s been doing a damn good job at keeping mom about, too), so Dean’s taking desperate measures and sort of fabricating an excuse to take Castiel out somewhere that’s actually nice for a change, whilst effectively dealing with the issue of Sam’s silence. Two birds with one stone and all that. 

“Where are we going?” 

“Some fancy ass restaurant, probably.” Dean says, strumming his fingers against the steering wheel. 

“Why are we crashing your brother’s date?” 

“Desperate times,” Dean says, “If he’s gonna lie to me again, he’s gonna have to deal with the consequences.” 

Cas looks at him like he knows there’s a story hidden under that flippant comment, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead the guy looks down at his attire (crumpled shirt and trench coat, as Cas seems to wear on a permanent basis), looking vaguely worried. 

“Isn’t there _anyone else_ you could have pulled into this scheme?” Cas asks. Dean glances at him, because he sounds like he’s trying to make a point about something that Dean’s totally missed. 

“Nah,” Dean counters, “You’re more fun. Right, I rang up and changed his reservation, so we gotta get there before him…” Dean says, trailing off. “Awesome, we’re early.” Dean says, pulling into the parking lot. 

He reaches over into the back and pulls out the white shirt he thought to bring whilst planning this out this morning. He hadn’t thought about the logistics of putting said shirt on in front of Cas, but it can hardly hurt his chances. 

Dean pulls his t-shirt over his head and chucks it in the direction of the back seat. And, yeah, Cas is definitely watching him as he buttons up the shirt a little too slowly. He can feel the guy’s piercing blue gaze travel over the stretch of bare skin. 

So, all is not lost. 

“S’go,” Dean says, breaking the gaze and standing up. “If Sam gets mad, just blame it on me.” 

“I was intending to,” Cas says, deadpan, “Can I leave my trench coat?” 

“Yeah,” Dean says, “just chuck it in the back.” 

It’s only when Cas loses the trench coat (which Dean had begun to believe was part of the guys skin because, seriously, the thing stays on permanently), that Dean registers the guy’s actually wearing a tie. It only strikes him because he can’t believe he totally has a thing for a guy who wears a tie on a day to day basis, but also because he’s ninety percent sure that is not the way God intended ties to be worn. 

When they’re out the car, he reaches forward and fixes it up for him… and if it’s in part because he’s trying to push into Cas’ personal space and make his presence known and wanted there, then no one needs to know about it except Dean Winchester. 

Sam arrives looking suitably irritated five minutes after they’ve taken a seat. 

“Dean, Cas, this is Amelia,” Sam says, one of classic bitch faces aimed in Dean’s direction. He also raises an eyebrow at Cas’ presence, but he at least refrains from making a comment. Yeah, he’s got to admit that conning Cas into a double date with his brother isn’t one of his finest moves, but he’s been running out of ideas. Cas’ frustrating ability to run hot and cold has derailed him completely, and he doesn’t have a damn clue how to make this whole thing work. 

“I’ve heard a lot about you, Dean,” Amelia smiles, looking a lot more amused about the whole thing than Sam. “You and your baby.” 

“Yeah?” Dean grins, exchanging a look with Sam, “She’ll be outside if you wanna meet her after dinner.” 

“I might take you up on that,” Amelia says, “I’ve heard lots of stories.” 

Whilst Amelia is losing her coat, Dean feels his gaze dragging back to Cas without permission. He’s staring down at the menu with an unhappy expression, eyebrows drawn together into a scowl. It’s kind of adorable in ways that Dean isn’t planning to think about too much, but it’s also pretty different to Cas’ neutral expression from moments before. The guy is never exactly one for smiling, but… maybe he doesn’t like Amelia? 

Dean nudges him with his foot. 

“Menu offending you, Cas?” 

Cas chooses not to answer. 

* 

Castiel Novak is pissed. 

He’s sat next to Dean Winchester in a shirt, on what is essentially a double date, whilst Amelia and Dean discuss Dean’s actual significant other, rather than the make-shift replacement Dean has opted for this evening. At least until after the meal, where apparently _‘baby’_ is going to be hanging around in the parking lot, waiting to snatch Dean away and back to his actual life. 

There is a chance Dean simply isn’t _thinking_ about the fact that they’re currently at a nice restaurant with another couple (which fulfils the date criterion in every way that Cas understands them), but then Dean has clearly shown interest in him before. 

He dissects his salmon feeling the anger pulsing though him. 

Just because Dean happens to be magnetic, troubled and understands Castiel completely, does not mean he will allow himself to be dragged anywhere near the realms of adultery. He doesn’t understand how Dean can lightly discuss _‘Baby’_ whilst sending him those deep, electric looks that make his heart speed up involuntarily. He doesn’t understand how Sam can glance between them and smile like he’s _encouraging_ this to happen, all whilst talking fondly of the years it had been him, Dean and Baby against the world. He doesn’t understand why Amelia seems to know his name too and doesn’t raise an eyebrow at his presence in place of the infamous baby she’s blatantly aware of. 

Although Castiel doesn’t understand any of it, he’s beginning to come to the conclusion that Dean Winchester is an asshole. A beautiful, fascinating asshole, but an asshole nevertheless. 

* 

The Tuesday after that, Sam Winchester has a meeting with Gabriel at Purgatory. 

Castiel is stocktaking the spirits when he hears their usual banter, although it appears to be slightly muted. He’s entirely sure that the brothers are convinced her can’t hear them, despite how illogical that is. Noise travels eerily easily across the silent bar, and Castiel is the only one here. 

“I dunno, man,” Dean says, “he’s been off with me since that night at the bar.” 

“Well, what did you do?” 

“I didn’t do anything. This is on him, Sammy.” 

Castiel feels himself bristle. 

“Cas is usually fair,” Sam counters, “I know you miss him, Dean –” 

“You don’t know jack shit,” Dean returns, stepping into Castiel’s sight and suddenly seeming to realise that Castiel is there, which really shouldn’t have been a cause of surprise. Dean’s lips stretch out into a smile, before it falters slightly. 

Castiel hasn’t been answering his messages. 

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel says, “Hello, Sam. Gabriel is next door.” 

“You joining us for lunch?” Sam asks, displaying has often referred to as Sam’s ‘puppy eye.’ 

Castiel had been running over the way in which he was going to reject the offer all morning (although he had thought the offer had come from Dean, which is what he’d prepared himself for and the fact that Sam had asked made me feel vaguely disappointed, in a twisted sort of way), but he might have also overestimated his ability to resist Sam’s puppy eyes. He likes to think that he would have immediately said no had Dean asked, but Sam’s offer is more difficult to resist. “Haven’t seen you for a while, Cas.” 

“Okay,” Castiel agrees. 

His gaze shifts to Dean involuntarily (an irritating side effect of still being in love with him, despite the newfound revelation that Dean is not, in fact, the person Castiel had previously thought), and is punished by the way Dean’s smile widens. 

Castiel swallows and leads the way to Gabriel’s café, slipping into the seat next to Gabriel silently. 

Dean falls into the seat opposite him. 

The conversation, aided by Sam, easily slips into the correct way to find the chinks in Meg’s armour, whilst Castiel sinks back into his usual mask of feigned indifference. 

He has an excellent view of how tired Dean looks and is trying very hard not to think about whether or not the exhaustion has anything to do with his campaign of resolutely ignoring him. 

“Who is this Meg bitch?” Dean asks, even though they’ve definitely had this conversation about Meg before and he knows Dean only pretends to be interested in the whole business with the court case when he feels as though he’s been silent for too long. 

“Lucifer’s PA,” Sam puts in. 

“She grew up with us, actually,” Gabriel says, “Prickly. Soft spot for Castiel. Not like that wasn’t reciprocated.” 

Three pair of eyes turn towards him. 

“Gabriel,” Castiel warns, picking up his cup of coffee and _not_ looking towards Dean. He finds it tremendously irritating that he still cares about the idea of Dean knowing about these things, just as he’d disliked the idea of Dean believing he’d actually gone on a date. He knows it makes little sense, but he doesn’t want Dean to think that he’s interested in anyone else, even though it would probably be easier that way. 

“Sounds like it’s story time,” Dean says, and Castiel can feel his gaze on the corner of his face. 

“Cassie here lost his virginity to Meg Masters,” 

“No,” Castiel counters, “I didn’t.” 

“Oh come on, Cassie,” Gabriel says, grinning as he glances between Castiel and Dean’s expressions (and he’s definitely not going to look at Dean at this point, because that’s certainly not going to make him feel better about anything at all). “Zachariah walked in on you guys making out. Zach’s a half-brother,” Gabriel adds, turning to the Winchesters, “Right bag of dicks.” 

“Seems like they’re all dicks,” Dean mutters, “So, what, you’re suing Cas’ childhood sweet heart?” 

“It was Castiel’s idea,” Gabriel said, stretching his hands up to the ceiling. 

It’s a tactical move. Meg has been loyal to Lucifer for years, but he’s sure that Lucifer doesn’t share the sentiments. If they can get Meg for something, and Lucifer, self-interested bastard that he is, let’s her takes the wrap for it, he’s sure that the secrets will start pouring out. He knows that a large proportion of his brother’s business dealings aren’t strictly legal (Michael and Lucifer both), but the difficulty is in acquiring proof. Meg will crack, he’s sure of it. 

“Well that’s fucked up,” Dean says. 

“I’m sorry, Dean, I wasn’t aware that anyone was asking for your input,” Castiel snaps, “Don’t offer moral judgements on situations you know nothing about.” 

“You think this is the right thing to do?” Dean levels back, eyes meeting his with an equal amount of bite. As much as Castiel has always been largely underestimated by his family, only Michael was ever able to hold his stare in an argument; he has a knack for radiating his anger and, frustratingly, Dean appears to be immune. 

“I worked for Michael for a number of years. I _know_ he has to be stopped. My brother is paying _your_ brother a significant amount of money to do so.” 

“Right,” Dean says, “And we’re back to money.” 

“All right,” Sam says, uneasily, “Enough handbags at dawn, guys –” 

“– It’s not my fault your brother is completely insolent,” 

“Here, here,” Gabriel agrees, “Now cool it the fuck down before something catches on fire, bro. I haven’t updated the insurance on this place for months.” 

“I’m going to finish stocktaking,” Castiel says, because he doesn’t think he’ll manage the entirety of the lunch without trying to break Dean’s unfairly attractive face. 

Dean doesn’t look at him as he stalks out. 

* 

Sam Winchester is clogging up his kitchen and making unreasonable demands, which just about sums up the majority of Dean’s teenage years as well as his current situation. 

“Text him and apologise, Dean,” Sam says. 

Dean’s crap at apologies at the best of times, but it’s worse when he’s not even quite sure what he’s apologising for; Cas has been kind of pissed at him for an age, and he doesn’t have a damn clue what he’s done. He’s willing to accept that he probably deserves it because, yeah, Cas is pretty damn reasonable most of the time… but he just doesn’t _get it._

Sam had corned him after the double date disaster (before driving Amelia home and probably having hot sex or whatever, not that Dean is jealous of Amelia because he’s not… it’s just he’s been feeling kind of lonely, lately) and asked him what hell he’d done to piss Cas off, and Dean had just shrugged his shoulders. He thought he could possibly trace it back to turning up out of the blue and dragging Cas out for dinner but… that didn’t seem like a sufficient reason to leave Dean digging for conversation, being repaid by two word answers and zero eye contact. Especially when he insisted on paying for said dinner. 

Cas totally shut off on him, and he wound up looking and feeling like an idiot… which led to him rerunning the whole damn thing over in his head, to the point where he wanted to see Cas, but also wanted to provoke him and piss him off. Then, course, they’d had a near shouting match in at Gabe’s café. 

“Saying what?” Dean asks, shoving a pile of dirty dishes he should have sorted out yesterday in the direction of the sink. “Sam, I don’t even know _why_ he’s pissed, just know the dude’s pissed. Anyway,” Dean says, turning on the tap, “you know I’m shitty at… talking and crap.” 

“Make a grand romantic gesture,” Sam suggests. Dean throws a dishcloth at his head. “I’m serious,” Sam grins, “Obviously, Cas isn’t getting the usual Dean Winchester routine…” Understatement. Dean’s never thrown so many lines at a guy without getting _something_ back (apart from that one night at the bar, where it had seemed like something happening was an honest to God possibility). “Try something… more Disney.” 

“Disney?” 

“Flowers and proving that you have good intentions and stuff,” Sam says. “Aim for a hallmark card.” 

“Dude, no,” Dean counters, turning towards the dishes in order to escape Sam’s obvious amusement about the whole thing. Not that Sam hadn’t been sympathetic when he’d first come over, but after thirty minutes of Sam giving him the _‘poor Dean’_ act he’d had to put his foot down. He can’t deal with that sort of crap unless he’s had a couple of measures of whiskey and, anyway, he’s done wallowing in Cas-related-angst. 

The guy makes _no sense._

And then it hits him, and it’s honest to God the worst Disney-channel-esque romantic decision he’s ever made… but this is Cas, who’s run him dry of ideas and patience and who he categorically does not understand. Anything to get the god damn message through. 

“You need to clear off in five, Sammy,” Dean says, pulling the plug in the sink. The dishes can wait till tomorrow. “I’m going to Rainbow Wednesdays.” 

* 

“Hey, angel,” A voice calls out. Both the familiarity of the voice and the stupid pet name is enough to grab Castiel’s attention. He turns towards the direction of the speaker, ready to glare at the man and leave serving him till later. 

Dean Winchester is grinning at him (albeit slightly sheepishly), with his eyebrows slightly raised and one arm leaning on the bar. 

“Dean,” Castiel says, feeling the shock right from his toes, “What are you…?” 

“Had a mad desire to check out Rainbow Wednesdays,” Dean says, leaning over the bar to make himself heard, “Nah, I figured if you had a very macho overcompensating boyfriend around it might lay some of the angel jokes to rest.” 

Cas has been complaining about the patrons of Purgatory’s tendency towards ridiculous pet names for well over three months. He has absolutely no idea why those in Purgatory tend to be slightly drawn to him, although Gabriel finds the whole thing positively hilarious and maintains that Castiel is brilliant for business. 

The very fact that Dean Winchester listened to his complaints enough to drag himself to Purgatory (particularly considering the fact that Dean had made his opinion about gay bars clear from the first ten seconds of their acquaintance), is almost enough to make Castiel forget that’s he’s furious with him. Almost. 

“I don’t have a macho –” Castiel begins, face crumpling in confusion. 

“I mean me, Cas,” Dean says, rolling his eyes, “I’m your substitute. Not that I thought I’d be waiting for twenty frigging minutes to get a drink…” 

“One of our bar staff called in sick,” Castiel says, “It’s been…” 

“Hell adjacent?” Dean suggests, “Need me to help out?” 

On the one hand, he’s trying to ignore Dean as much as possible... on the other, they’re a man down and the bar queue is a nightmare. Usually, the length of time people have to wait at the bar directly correlates with the amount of trouble and mess Castiel later has to deal with. Dean is already here, has years of bar work experience, and might even be able to help with his pet name problem. 

“I…” Castiel stalls, processing this for a moment, “yes, if it isn’t a problem?” 

“Sure,” Dean says, sliding off his barstool, “but I’m gonna need a drink.” 

“Fine,” Castiel agrees, picking up a glass and pouring Dean the usual. The patrons around Dean are beginning to show signs of irritation at Castiel ignoring them in favour of having this conversation, which doesn’t dissipate much when Castiel slides the glass over to Dean without asking for payment. 

Dean winks at the guy who’s been complaining loudest, before pushing through the crowd and heading for the entrance to the bar. 

“I’ll have whatever he ordered,” The next in line jeers. He’s fully aware that the man is trying to be funny, but he pours him the same drink and asks for an overpayment to make a point. 

* 

“It’s getting quieter,” Dean comments. 

“Prices go up after half twelve,” Castiel states. Once again, everything is a complete mess. He’s weighing up the pros and cons of firing the bartender who called in sick and demanding that Dean work for them permanently, because Dean is a truly excellent bartender. Castiel isn’t entirely sure how he managed to serve customers three times faster than him, pick up excellent tips 

_and_ somehow defuse the majority of the picking-up-attempts by resting a hand on his shoulder or standing too close. 

It has, however, done nothing to stop his body’s irritating reaction of wanting to lean into every touch and draw them out as much as he can because this, this right here, is allowed. Dean made it clear at the beginning that he was _pretending_ to be Castiel’s boyfriend for the purpose of losing the pick-up lines and if it’s _pretend_ then Castiel can lie to himself and say that it doesn’t count… that he’s not doing the wrong thing by allowing Dean to press close behind him as he pours another round of rainbow shots. 

And it’s hard to maintain the fact that he’s furious with Dean when he’s so close, which is gradually making him feel tense and angry at himself. At least, until Dean’s fingers find his shoulder, his back, his hand all over again. Then the tension bleeds away for the length of the touch, which subsequently makes him hate himself all over again. It’s beginning to give him a headache. 

“I apologise for pulling you in, Dean.” 

“Problem is, Cas,” Dean says, ignoring his apology (as he had the multiple times Castiel had voiced the sentiment), “You get ruffled by it. They’re only doing it to mess with you.” 

“Gabriel always used to say that about Michael and Lucifer,” Cas says, dryly, “And look how that ended up.” 

“Well, you’re not really involved with the big fight stuff, are you?” Dean says, distractedly making one woman’s order of three different cocktails, “Always figured that they were just winding each other up; billionaire Daddy’s gone missing, let’s throw a lawsuit while he’s out.” 

“Dean,” Castiel says, frustration bubbling up from his gut and breaking past the mellowing side effect of Dean’s touch, “I used to work for Michael, before I ditched out to join the army.” Dean pauses in shaking the woman’s cocktails, because Castiel rarely talks about this. “Michael paid off a variety of different army officials to ensure that I was given a dishonourable discharge, because he preferred the way I filed the paperwork. This may seem _funny_ to you –” 

“– Cas,” Dean interrupts, “that’s not what I meant.” 

Dean finishes up with cocktails whilst Castiel stands motionless, one hand resting firmly on the bar to stop it from shaking. 

“Cas,” Dean says, fingers brushing over the tense edge of Castiel’s knuckles so lightly it could almost have been accidental, “I know they’re you’re family… I just forget sometimes because they’re all such massive dicks.” 

“I wish I could forget.” 

“I’ll bet,” Dean says, voice low, “Just, don’t be mad at me, Cas. You know I…” Dean’s fingers stretched over the back of Castiel’s hand, resting there for a moment. “This is me trying to apologise for that, okay? I didn’t… I shouldn’t have said what I said.” 

“You don’t have to stay until closing,” Castiel returns, cutting over Dean’s apology and looking away from him. Dean’s standing close enough that Castiel can feel him sigh in the way that the air separating them moves. 

“I’m staying, Cas.” Dean says, because he’s resolute and determined and frustrating like that. 

Castiel thinks he hates the way Dean’s nickname for him falls off Dean’s tongue, with meaning and depth and intent, and he once again decides that he really does detest the use of pet names. It compromises his resolve slightly more, resonating through his thoughts. 

* 

Cas has warmed up considerably over the course of the night, despite a few frosty patches, and Dean’s beginning to consider the whole thing a bit of a success. Maybe he was subjected to a whole lot of uncomfortable pick-up lines from men and women alike (although admittedly not angel related pick-up lines like Cas was receiving) and forced to confront a number of his gay-bar-issues head on, but he’d actually started to enjoy himself. 

After happy hour had officially ended and the bar died down, he’d spent most the night telling Cas stories about the bars he used to work at. He’d been in indifferent at first, lips twisting upwards on occasions, but half an hour in he’d earned himself an actual laugh – a pretty big achievement from Cas. 

“Why did you stop bartending?” Cas asks as he’s doing the final stock checks after closing. Dean is watching him feeling unduly affectionate, because he’s just missed him and Cas talking like they actually liked each other, rather than the pointless loggerheads that seemed to have encompassed the past few months. 

“I got old,” Dean says, “Wasn’t worth the tips anymore.” 

“You’re not old, Dean,” Castiel refutes. 

“Feel it,” Dean says, quietly, as Cas makes towards the backroom. “Cas,” Dean says, holding out a hand to stop him from passing. He’s never been given such an open opportunity to touch Cas as much as he wanted to. He’s a tactile person, as much as he always tried to squash it (because John and Sam weren’t like that, looked down on it, and he never had anyone else to direct it to), and the instances of touch have made Dean feel braver than normal. 

Cas pauses, turning towards him with his back to the bar. Dean pushes a little more into Cas’ personal space experimentally, just to see what Cas does. 

Cas glances down at his lips before dragging his gaze back to eyelevel. 

He’s done this dance plenty of times, and it’s not like he can’t decode what that means. It’s only two of them now, but he hasn’t stopped with the small touches and the odd flirty comments. Cas hasn’t told him to back off, hasn’t once drawn away from Dean over the course of the night, or fixed him with one of the stairs as if to tell him where the line is. No, Cas is looking at his lips and Dean figures that, fuck, if they’re both thinking about it (which he’s been trying not to for the past couple of hours) then he might as well take another step forward and kiss the guy. So he does. 

And it’s frigging awesome. 

Cas takes a few seconds to catch up with what’s happening, but then one hand is reaching for Dean’s waist and the other is balling up in shirt. His lips part and Dean’s pulled in closer, one hand resting on the bar and the other gripping Cas’ hip. He hasn’t made out with someone for the sake of it for an age and the fact that it’s Cas is shifting everything, somehow. It shouldn’t feel special, because it’s a god damn kiss against a bar and that’s hardly new, in fact he’s lost count of how many times he’s been in this position, but it feels fucking _precious_ in a way that makes his head hurt. 

He hasn’t felt like this because of a kiss since Cassie. 

Dean thinks he might finally be getting what Sam was trying to tell him all those months ago, with his vague talk of feelings, because his whole body is relaxing into this kiss, into Castiel, and his brain is derailing into a mantra of _this this this_. This is exactly what Dean wants because, yeah, this was never about some project to get Cas laid, or anything like that… it’s because he’s _in love_ with Cas. 

Sonuvabitch. 

Suddenly this kiss is over and Dean is staring at Castiel Novak thinking _shit shit shit_ because he’s not well equipped to deal with these sorts of revelations. He’s good at one night stands and three date relationships, but he’d screwed it up with all the people he’d ever cared about… and the Lisa disaster wasn’t that far in the past, and he can remember her yelling, and Ben crying, and everything crumbling to dust. He’d tried so goddamn hard. He doesn’t really know why now. It wasn’t for Lisa, because he’d only ever loved the idea of her but… he’d wanted in on her life. He’d wanted to play Dad for Ben. He knew it wasn’t going to work from the off, but he kept pushing forward and _fuck he loves Cas, he loves him and –_

“Dean, I think you should go.” Cas’ voice sounds so wrecked that it takes Dean a few seconds to process what he’s said, and then a little longer for him to work out that he’s just been fully rejected. The rejection isn’t very convincing considering Cas still has a handful of his shirt and has fixed him with a gaze so intense that it actually sort of hurts, but it’s a rejection none the less. 

Rejection. Right. Cas wants him to leave. 

“Okay, yeah,” Dean says, taking a step back. He can’t remember where he left his leather jacket. Actually, he can’t really remember anything except for the fact that he’s just realised he loves Cas, and they kissed, and now he’s been sent home and he doesn’t… “Wait, why?” 

Cas had kissed him back. Not just a bit, either. He’d had one hand slipping up under his shirt in the search for bare skin and tongues and teeth and lips and none of those things were screaming that Cas wasn’t interested… and if Cas was interested and Dean was definitely interested then it seemed a frigging waste to just let something with such gaping potential to slip by on a half-hearted rejection. 

If that’s what Cas really wanted, then fine… but it doesn’t follow. He doesn’t get it. 

“It’s _wrong,”_ Cas says. The deep, tortured note is enough to reroute Dean’s brain back to the _love_ thing and _fuck Cas is hot_ before the part of his upstairs brain that’s still functioning registers what Cas has said, then sticks on it because… _what?_

“Wrong,” Dean repeats, “I don’t…” 

_“Dean,”_ Cas says, as if that explains anything. 

Dean is trying to catch up. He knows that Cas was bought up by a famously religious family of nut jobs, and he knew from Gabriel that Cas hadn’t shaken that off completely… which is the closest thing he can approximate from wrong because it seems like the only context where it fits. 

So, what, Cas is abstinent or doesn’t believe in necking in the early hours of Thursday mornings? 

“Is this some crazy residue from your Dad?” 

Cas’ eyes flash dangerously. 

“ _Don’t_ bring religion into this,” 

“Dude, believe me religion is the last thing I want to be thinking about right now, but I don’t get where the hell else this is coming from.” 

“It’s a commonly held view,” Cas says, eyes narrowing into slits. 

Pretty much confirms that he’s digging around the right sort of area, though, or else Cas wouldn’t have got on the defensive. 

He’s scraping around in his vernacular of quasi-religious morality that might possible define this whole thing as ‘wrong’ and, alongside commonly held view, the only thing he’s coming up with is the fact that they’re both guys. 

Shit. That’s it. Cas is frigging _homophobic._ A walking back of internalised homophobia and daddy issues… which pretty much explains why he was so angry about being tricked onto a double date with Sam, so tight lipped about that other date he went on and why he hadn’t got laid since that one night stand. It makes sense why every push forward has been greeted with a hasty retreat and a cool distance. 

“You work in a gay bar,” Dean says, slowly. He’s met a lot of screwed up people in his time, but he’s never met a homophobic closet case who works in a gay bar. He’s pretty frigging astounded, actually, because all the really homophobic people he’d ever met had boycotted shops owned by gay people, let alone spaces like Purgatory where being gay was frigging encouraged. 

“As a favour to my brother,” Cas returns, looking angrier by the second. 

“No one forced you to take the job,” Dean says, “it’s not like you needed the money.” 

The second the word leaves his lips he wishes he could detract them, because Dean’s attitude to money and Cas’s bank account have always been and will always be at odds with each other; he’s just trying to dissect why the hell they’re not still kissing, not pissing Cass off, but the conversation’s derailed and he doesn’t know where any of this is going anymore. 

He’s still reeling from his first big realisation, let alone the subsequent sucker punches. 

“Cas,” Dean says, before Cas can yell at him, “I just don’t get the problem. You…you want me,” he’s hedging here, reading Cas’ answer in the way his eyes follow him round the room, and the forced restraint leaking out of _it’s wrong._ “I want you,” he says, stronger this time, “So I’m doing the math and coming out with this being a great idea.” 

Dean had sort of forgotten the fact that he has a tendency to get closer to Cas when they’re arguing, meaning he’s already invaded Cas’ personal space all over again. The fact that Dean might lose out on Cas due to some stupid, nonsensical prejudice isn’t sitting well with him. That, combined with the growing realisation that this isn’t going to pan out like he hoped, is enough to spur him on to attempt a second take. 

He cups Cas’ jaw with one hand, drawing him in closer. Cas allows him with a frustrated sight but no real resistance, and this time the meeting of their lips is almost tender. He wants Cas to get that there’s feeling behind this. He’s not just throwing this out there on a whim (even though he might have done, that one time), because he’s shockingly invested in this thing; he wants Cas, wants all of him, and he’s not losing out to something so nonsensical. 

“Dean,” Cas says, voice low with their bodies pressed flush against each other. “You need to stop before this goes any further.” 

“Don’t,” 

Cas presses his lips against his, just for a second, before pulling far enough away to speak. 

“You will regret this tomorrow.” 

“I’ve wanted this for months,” he counters, surprised by the sincerity of the admission. He’s not one for these raw exchanges of feelings, but the combined closeness of Cas and the distance of actually having Cas is doing strange, unpredictable things to his head. 

“You will hate me,” 

“Don’t tell me how I’ll feel,” Dean says, “get enough of that crap from Sam.” 

“No,” 

There’s a part of him that wants to push this conversation further, the part that’s focusing on Cas’ body language and the fucking nonsense that he’s spouting about morality, but he’s not going to be a dick about this. Already, he’s stepping back and grabbing his jacket. In all good conscience, it’s not like he can fight for his when the end result is Cas hating himself, screwed up as that is, and the unfairness of the whole thing is beginning to hurt. 

It’s past four AM and he’s gotta be at Bobby’s for eight. Cas is going to be mad at him for a decade unless his word view suddenly shifts in the next few hours. Dean is wrung out and exhausted. 

Cas finishes closing up in silence, slipping on his trench coat. 

They step out onto the street together. 

Cas’ crappy car is parked a few spaces away from the Impala. Dean stops, hands in his pockets, as he watches Cas fumble with his own keys. It’s beginning to get lighter already and right now they could be the only two people in the whole damn state; the quiet isn’t as unnerving as the solitude, but the way it lingers makes the air heavy. 

“Just so you know,” Dean says, “it’s not wrong to me,” 

“Then you’re not the man I thought you were.” Cas’ voice is level, but his hands are still shaking. He finally opens his car and gets in, starting up the engine and pulling out of the parking lot in a blatant rush. Dean is still standing, stoic and unmoving, when the sound of Cas’ car drains away, leaving silence. 

Dean Winchester climbs into his car, fingers brushing over the lines of the dashboard, before he slumps towards the steering wheel of his baby. 

“Well,” Dean mutters into the quiet, “that could have gone better.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise chapter four was supposed to be the last chapter! And this story was only supposed to be one chapter in the first place but it keeps getting away from me... I should be finishing the next chapter & this story today, though, as I'm not free of uni and have FINALLY the summer holidays. Harrah.

Dean Winchester wakes up with his face plastered against the leather of his sofa and his oversized brother nudging him with his knee. 

“What time is it?” Dean groans, pulling himself upwards. His foot connects with a bottle of not quite half empty Jäger, which probably explains why his head hurts. He’s pretty sure he’s too old to be binge drinking Jägermeister in the middle of the week but, hey, he’s had a crappy day. 

“It’s like seven PM, dude,” Sam says. The subtext screams ‘ _too early to be passed out on the sofa’_ but that’s entirely down to not getting in till five and leaving again at seven, rather than the drinking. He’d figured an hour of sleep would only have made it worse and just wound up killing most of the time trying to scrub everything about Purgatory off his skin. God damn gay bars. 

“Didn’t sleep last night,” Dean says, “Must’ve fallen asleep after getting back from Bobby’s,” 

Sam raises his eyebrow at the bottle, but decides to let it pass without comment. 

“Late night?” Sam asks, giving him one of those self-satisfied grins which are annoying normally, but extra frustrating when Sam has the wrong end of the stick. Dean’s still only had a couple of hours sleep and is still reeling from the disaster that happened yesterday… and he’d really love to give Sam the story he wants, but that’s not how it panned out. 

“Wrong tree, Sam,” Dean grunts, pulling himself up into vertical. 

“What happened?” 

“Don’t wanna talk about it,” Dean says, running a hand over his face. “You got food?” 

“Uh, no Dean, I don’t usually bring food with me to other people’s apartments.” 

“All right, wise guy,” Dean says, “Shouldn’t you be off writing sonnets for Amelia?” 

“Just because my love life is working out,” Sam says, “doesn’t mean you can be a bitch about it.” 

“Well, I ain’t really feeling like entertaining right now, Sam, so…” 

“What happened?” Sam asks. 

“Dude’s crazy,” 

“Wanna grab a burger?” Sam hedges, puppy dog eyes turned up high. Dean’s been nagging Sam to spend more time with him for ages, and apparently all it takes is Dean having a love life crisis. Jesus. Sam is gonna drag the whole story out of him one or another, and he figures he might as well get a burger out of the deal. And pie. 

Anyway, he’s self-aware enough to know that spending the evening alone ends in an empty bottle of Jäger, brooding and a hangover tomorrow. He likes to wallow and self-destruct as much as the next guy, but right now he’s pretty sure he doesn’t want to be alone. 

“Yeah, all right,” Dean agrees, grabbing his leather jacket off the back of the sofa, “you’re paying.” 

* 

Sam looks as shocked as Dean had felt last night, and is looking very much like he wants to drive straight to Cas’ place and give him a hug. He does get that, obviously, because he can’t imagine being conflicted enough to deny himself something so basic. 

Well, that’s a damn lie… but he’s not there anymore. 

John Winchester handled the whole Dean likes dick thing a lot better than Dean had expected, but that wasn’t saying all that much. John had his conceptions of men that liked men (the same conceptions that Dean had inherited, which had made the whole accepting-self thing a lot more difficult than it really needed to be) and usually talked about _them_ with a kind of slight distain. It’s not like he ever damned anyone for it, he just… made it pretty clear that it wasn’t the way you should be. 

So, Dean came out and said it (thanks to a couple of beers, Sam’s encouragement and this car crash relationship with this guy that he thought might last, till it all went to the crapper two weeks later) and his Dad narrowed his eyes and delivered a couple of lines that were sort of well-meaning but mostly just ignorant. Given Dean had spent his whole life making vague attempts to be exactly what his father wanted, the fact that John had comprehension difficulties about something as basic as Dean’s preferences had kind of hurt in a number of different ways. He definitely hadn’t understood the whole bisexuality thing, either, because he figured that if Dean liked girls then Dean should frigging well stick to girls. 

He did for a while, to keep the peace to and keep John Winchester happy (or at least, he kept any deviation from the path of heterosexuality pretty silent, his eyes in check and his comments censored)… at least till their Dad pulled the disappearing act. Then there was the road trip and Sammy bringing it up and realising that keeping John Winchester happy was a life time occupation, and not one that paid very well. 

“That _sucks,”_ Sam says, which isn’t the line Dean thought he’d go for, but works just as well, “you guys love each other.” 

“That doesn’t mean a damn thing, Sam. Just ask Romeo.” 

Sam’s lips part in slight surprise, eyes widening. 

“So you do know,” Sam says, slowly. 

Dean narrows his eyes. 

“Yeah, let’s talk about this,” Dean says, “I’ll braid your hair, you put on the notebook and later we can have a frigging pillow fight.” 

“I just…huh,” Sam says, “never thought you’d find someone with more gay bar issues than you.” 

“I’m frigging well adjusted,” Dean bites back. 

“Sure, Dean,” Sam says, taking a sip of his stupid health drink (how is Sam related to him, anyway?) and watching him carefully, “So what are you going to do?” 

“About what?” 

“About _Cas,”_

“Sweet FA,” 

“Dean,” 

“What? You want me to storm in and drag him out of Narnia? No, Sam. Leave it be.” 

“Just talk to him,” 

“No,” Dean says, pushing his plate away with a huff, “And that’s final. And there’s nothing you can do to persuade me otherwise.” 

* 

There’s a pull that Dean has that Castiel can’t seem to shake, despite his newly formulated opinion that Dean is a complete asshole. So, when Dean appears in Purgatory at half five on Monday evening Castiel finds that’s there’s been a part of himself that’s been _aching_ for Dean to appear since Wednesday night. 

The memory of the kiss has been impossible to shake off and he’s been avoiding humanity as much as possible since then, mostly by throwing himself into the temp work Gabriel left him before he disappeared half away across the country. He feels similar to how he’d felt upon discovering that he’d been filing paperwork that had been ruining people’s lives; a helpless hopelessness that he pins entirely on inadvertently causing pain to others. 

Dean Winchester had said he wanted him, and the offer had been impossibly tempting and difficult to resist, but Dean Winchester didn’t _really_ want him. He wanted to spend his life with Baby, his family, and not throw away a _fifteen year_ relationship for, what? Castiel? Worse, Dean apparently didn’t see the problem ‘ _at all’_. He’d have pulled him closer, whispered the damnable nickname into Castiel’s neck guiltlessly, and kissed him until he no longer remembered how to think. 

Castiel thinks that he’s probably feeling guilty for both of them, but then that was something his brother’s always accused him of. It was necessary in the Novak household, though, as he’d discovered that the majority of his brother’s didn’t feel guilt at all. Someone had to have a heart. 

“Hey,” Dean says, hands buried in his pocket. He looks tortured and drawn in a way that makes Castiel think that the guilt has kicked in, several days late, and that Dean is going to drag out some apology, tell him he’s sorted whatever rough patch he’d been in the middle of with Baby, and tell Castiel it’s probably better if they don’t see each other for a while, as if Castiel needed that memo. He’s clearly uncomfortable and as much as he doesn’t want to make it easier for him (because already Castiel’s stomach is turning over with discomfort, readying itself for the rejection), the silence is too much. 

“Hello Dean,” 

Dean’s shoulders visibly relax, although his expression remains tense and uncomfortable. 

“Hey, so…I talked to Sam,” Dean says, “About… uh,” Dean glances around the room, as if suddenly expecting to find someone other than the two of them there, “everything. I thought you should know that.” 

Although Castiel had chosen to avoid Gabriel completely in wake of the incident (which had been very easy, because Gabriel was currently caught up in something in Chicago), he’d expected that Dean might talk to Sam. 

“And you know what Sam’s like,” Dean says, “he wouldn’t leave it alone and he…” One of Dean’s hand distractedly skates across the surface of the bar, eyes dark, “Any chance of a beer?” 

“Of course,” Castiel says, although he’s not entirely sure why. Dean has always hated talking about difficult topics like his feelings, particularly without alcohol, but a drink is guaranteed to draw out their encounter; as soon as he sets the beer down on the bar it seems unnatural to leave until it’s finished. 

Dean takes the beer in hand, looking up at him over the top of it. It’s far too easy to fall back into this staring competition with Dean, to allow himself to be drawn into deciphering what’s going on behind the green, but it’s dangerous territory. 

“You’re my best friend, Cas,” Dean says, and Castiel can practically hear Dean preparing the words of rejection, the delivery of the choice he always knew Dean was going to make. “And I… Jesus, Cas, I love you. I doubt it makes any damn difference, but Sam said I should…I dunno, at least say it.” 

Castiel feels something sharp at the back of his throat which might possibly be disbelief, or joy, or dread. He understands Dean enough to know that Dean means it. He can see that clearly in the discomfort in the hard, angular lines of Dean’s posture. Can read it in the way Dean’s staring at him, waiting for a response that Castiel doesn’t know how to give. He knows that Dean drags out words of sentiment very rarely, and never on a whim. 

Dean Winchester loves him. 

It should make him pleased. 

“I’ll just… I’ll just go,” Dean says, pulling out a note for the beer, fumbling, kicking the bar stool in an attempt to get away quickly. 

“Dean,” Cas says. He is not entirely whether he meant to, because everything would be so much simpler if he just let Dean walk away and tried to pretend that this whole conversation never happened (although he thinks that’s probably impossible, because already the moment feels as though it has been drilled into the back of his skull). Dean loves him. 

And Baby, presumably. 

Cas blinks. 

“I’m sorry,” 

“Don’t frigging _apologise,_ Cas,” Dean snaps, still standing up, “Not your fault. You didn’t ask for me to…” Dean trails off. Evidentially, he doesn’t feel inclined to say his earlier words a second time, although Castiel has them running over on repeat. Dean’s looking at him again. “What… what do you want me do?” 

Castiel’s heart is much faster than its usual resting speed. Dean loves him. Dean loves him and is asking him what Castiel wants him to do about it… and Castiel _wants_ to drag Dean’s frown back to his lips, kiss him and tell him to _choose him._

“I can leave you alone,” Dean says, “if that’s what you want. Or I can just deal, if you…if you’re okay with that. I’d rather have you.” 

The option Castiel wants hasn’t been voiced. Castiel doesn’t know what that means. 

“Give me something here, Cas,” Dean huffs, “like talking to a frigging robot.” 

“I apologise,” 

“Quit it,” Dean says, green eyes flashing as the rise to meet his. Castiel is very thankful for the expanse of bar that separates them, because that look is electric. 

“It’s your decision, Dean,” Castiel says, because it’s the only way to absolve himself from guilt. Dean doesn’t look entirely surprised at his non-committal answer, but he definitely looks frustrated. “Whatever you think best.” 

Silence stretches between them for a few long seconds. Dean looks back down at his beer, seemingly disappointed about how full it still is. 

“How is Sam?” Castiel asks, “I haven’t seen him since Gabriel went to Chicago.” 

“Good,” Dean says, smiling at him slightly, a reward for sparking some kind of conversation, “Hanging round my place like a bad smell, though. Reckon Amelia’s missing him. What’s Gabe doing?” 

“I suspect,” Castiel smiles, “rival club owner, Kali.” 

“Riiighht,” Dean grins. 

“He opened five businesses in Chicago last year just to irritate her,” 

“She hot?” 

“She’s a very successful business owner, Dean,” Castiel says, frowning, “She is ruthless and powerful.” 

“Sounds hot,” Dean says, which makes Castiel want to smile more than he thinks it should. “And it sounds like your brother’s whipped.” 

“He’s left me in charge of two clubs and four restaurants.” Castiel says, frowning, “I would hope he has an adequate reason for it.” 

“Sounds like hard work,” 

“It’s been a long week.” 

“I better get back,” Dean says, setting down his beer with a frown, “See you, Cas.” 

Castiel swallows. 

He doesn’t really want Dean to leave, despite himself, and finds himself half mourning the lost smell of leather and Dean prematurely. Everything between them has been strained and awkward for weeks, and he wants it just to be simple again… but then, Dean said he loves him, and he has Baby, and he wanted Castiel to make the decision for him. 

Dean is halfway to the doorway when Castiel makes a decision he’s sure he’ll regret later. 

“Dean,” Castiel says, gut twisting unpleasantly as Dean pauses in the doorway, “It is not… unreciprocated.” 

He freezes in the doorway. He doesn’t look pleased. He looks like Castiel has just stabbed him. 

Castiel swallows and doesn’t break his gaze. Dean half nods in acknowledgement and then leaves without saying another word. 

The click of the door behind him sounds very final. 

* 

Dean Winchester is kind of aware that, technically, this isn’t his brother’s fault… but he’s spent the past couple of hours (and days, if he’s gonna be honest about the whole thing) cosying up with a bottle of Jack Daniels and Sam’s a long haired idiot who goaded him into talking about his feelings and randomly showed up in his apartment. So, yeah, he’s not going to feel guilty about using Sam as a sound board for his drunken rambling because he didn’t need that kind of shit from Cas, and the fact that he now has it all Sam’s fault. 

“Not cut out for this star crossed lovers crap, Sammy,” Dean says, taking another swig of Jack. The movement of bringing the bottle to his lips is a comforting, familiar gesture that takes him right back to ten years ago. It’s nostalgic in a way that probably shouldn’t be, but he’s going to make a self-destructive allowance just this once. 

Sam isn’t offering him any advice this time, probably because finally giving in to Sam’s nagging totally bombed last time. Instead his brother’s just a mess of too long limbs on the sofa next to him, flipping through channels and skipping them whenever something love related comes up, like Dean has literally fallen out of a chick flick. 

It’s not really helping his mood in all honesty, but Sam’s not likely to leave him alone with his best friend Jack Daniels, because he’s a bitch like that. 

“The hell he tell me that, Sammy?” 

“Because he’s Cas,” Sam says, as if that explains anything. It does, a little. 

Dean swears into the top of the bottle. 

“Why you here, anyway?” Dean asks, because Sam had shown up to Dean’s pity party uninvited, and he’s pretty sure he hadn’t got to the drunk texting stage of events just yet. He likes having Sam round, of course he does, but he’s too used to Sam’s usual excuse and ‘I’m really busy, Dean’s to be able to trust this. Obviously, Sam’s been hanging around more in an attempt to stick his nose into Dean’s business, but even so… the kid’s been here a lot. Also, he’s beginning to register the fact that Sam had walked straight to his kitchen before sitting down next to him, depositing what looks like it could be one of Ellen’s pie dishes on one of his kitchen counters. “Did you bring pie?” 

“Uh, yeah,” Sam says, “I need a favour… but maybe now’s not the time.” 

“What kind of favour?” Dean asks, taking another swig out of the bottle before setting it down on the table. He has work tomorrow, as much as he’s been trying to forget about that, and it’s not like he wants to go into the whole Cas situation with Bobby to explain why he’s been looking like shit lately. “More importantly, what kind of pie?” 

“Blueberry. So, there’s this formal dinner thing…” 

“No,” Dean says, reaching for the jack again. Dean hates frigging penguin suits and douchebag lawyer gatherings more than he can express, and Sam knows that well. It’s not like he’d be inclined to go even if his god damn brother hadn’t just talked him into making an ass of himself, feelings wise, and leading to this bullshit. 

It’s not even frigging unrequited as much as permanently unconsummated thanks to some dumb childhood conditioning (or maybe that’s slightly ungenerous, but damnit Dean doesn’t feel like being generous right now). He doesn’t know what you do with that. 

The wasted possibility is what’s driving him to keep drinking because, damn, Castiel fucking loves him back. 

“Dean, I can’t go on my own.” 

“Take Amelia,” 

“That’s…. kind of complicated right now,” Sam says. 

“Complicated like internalised homophobia complicated, or complicated like you’re being a damn baby complicated?” 

“Complicated like it turns out her husband is still alive complicated,” Sam says, with an appropriate bitch face. 

“Damn.” 

“He was in the army, they thought... well, she didn’t know,” Sam sighs, “and now I don’t know what’s happening, but I do know that she’s not coming to this thing. And you know I don’t fit in with these lawyer business types, Dean.” 

“You fit in a damn site better than I ever will,” Dean grunts back, but he’s still half stuck on the bit where it turns out Amelia’s dead husband (that he hadn’t even known about, thanks to Sam’s tight lipped silence) is alive and kicking after all. That’s… yeah, that’s like beyond shower sex levels of complicated. 

“It’s one night,” Sam says, turning those big eyes on him, “It’s one night, Dean. And it’s a free dinner.” 

“It’ll be those frigging taster portions of things I can’t pronounce,” 

“Gabriel will be there – ” 

“ – and Cas?” Dean demands. Sam refuses to meet his eyes. “Screw this, Sam. The dude thinks my feelings are _a_ sin or some shit, and you expect me to go to some douchebag event and eat dinner with him?” 

“Well maybe you should try and help him!” Sam snaps. “I get that you’re hurting, Dean, but don’t you get that this has got to be so much worse for Cas? He’s our friend. You can’t just turn him out on his ass because he’s not gonna sleep with you.” 

“That’s not what this is about, Sam.” 

“Then don’t shut him out like you always do,” Sam bites back, “It’s one night, Dean. One night.” 

“I dunno, Sammy.” 

“Gabriel and Cas are having this huge argument about pulling Cas into the fight with his brothers, and all the stuff that went down when Cas was working for Michael… I’m pretty sure Cas has agreed to get back in the game, Dean, and he didn’t exactly look happy about it. Michael is going to be at this dinner. Cas could probably use a friendly face.” 

Dean doesn’t really want to bring up the fact that he’s probably the last thing Cas wants to be dealing with at a family dinner, because he’s not even sure that it’s true. Cas does seem to like his company provided he doesn’t push things too far in certain directions, which means the guys got a hell of a lot more self-restraint than Dean does. Probably a near life time of practice. Fuck. 

“What the hell am I even gonna talk about at some fancy ass dinner, Sam?” Dean demands. 

“Just talk about the Impala,” Sam says, “Go on about classic cars, you’ll fit right in with the overcompensating douchebag trope.” 

“Shut up, bitch.” Dean mutters, bringing the bottle back up to his lips and processing. He’s been wallowing in his own self-pity whilst it turns out that Sam’s girlfriend is technically married, which sort of winds up kinda similar to him and Cas (in a weird want-you-but-probably-can’t-have-you-way), and if Cas really _is_ about to jump into the legal battle with all guns blazing then… well, Dean can’t deny that he’s _curious._

It’s just a matter of whether or not his desire to be there for his brother and the undeniable draw to Cas is enough to outweigh a dumb corporate dinner and his desire to avoid Cas until the apocalypse; it’s a tough one, really. 

“It’s an open bar,” Sam adds. 

_Well then._

* 

Castiel Novak is having a bad day. 

Dean has made no effort to contact him at all in the past week, forcing Castiel into admitting the fact Dean has taken his admission of returned affections, compartmentalised it and then plans to ignore it (and him) for the rest of his life. This isn’t exactly news, because of course Dean was going to inevitably marry Baby, have a number of painfully beautiful children and be sickeningly happy for the rest of his life, but the silence has still left him feeling grouchy and irritable all the same. Heartbreak, he supposes. 

Then Gabriel had returned from his business trip and bullied Castiel into strategizing how exactly to take down Michael, starting with an overtly friendly gesture of an overly formal corporate dinner at one of Kali’s hotels. 

Apparently, he was both required to attend the event and talk to the brother who’d gotten him fired from the only job that felt like feasible penance for the accidentally havoc he’d caused on people’s lives. The fact that Castiel had caused so much harm _because of_ Michael didn’t help matters, never mind the fact that that Castiel had always been hopeless at social gatherings involving champagne, ties and formal dinners. The first time he had attended one aged seventeen, he’d struck up conversation with one of the girls serving champagne and had been laughed at by Raphael and severely told off by Michael; the last, he’d been on the cusp of quitting, had drank too much and nearly went home with family friend Balthazar, who he’s sure is hanging around somewhere near the bar. He finds them uncomfortable and unnatural and almost always sought for a way to get out of the situation entirely. 

Frankly, with the way things are between his brothers at the moment, Castiel would rather ‘do a Gabriel’ and hide from his whole family for just under a decade, but apparently he is not allowed that luxury. So much to his chagrin, he’s swapped his shift at Rainbow Wednesdays for a room full of suits and formal dresses (although admittedly not as many dressers as suits, as is sadly usually the way with these type of events); he hadn’t been aware that there was anything he’d prefer Rainbow Wednesdays to, but apparently there is. 

He heads in the direction of the bar, hoping to at least loosen the tight nervous feeling in his gut before he has to face any of the more unsavoury members of his family; a lining of whatever expensive wine Gabriel has provided for the occasion is sure to make the whole thing more bearable, and cushion the inevitable blows that get thrown at him. 

It’s a mark of how long it’s been since he’s seen his brother, and how acutely aware he is of Dean Winchester, that he recognises the back of Dean’s head before he recognises Michael. His thoughts catch on _why would Gabriel do this to me_ (before he remembers that he hasn’t mentioned any of the details of what’s occurred between him and the eldest Winchester, and that any knowledge Gabriel has of their relationship he’s read between the lines of Castiel’s poker face), before settling on _why would Dean agree to come here_ before he’s alert enough to pick up part of their conversation, and with it Michael’s voice. 

Dean Winchester is talking about _‘lubricating his baby’_ with the brother that betrayed him. 

Castiel is having a very bad day.


	5. Chapter 5

Dean’s clothing usually varies to the extent of a different Led Zeppelin T-shirt, and that one time he put on an actual shirt, so facing Dean Winchester entirely suited up is unhelpful when Castiel would really like to be furious at him (he is still furious, but it’s marred by his eyes unconsciously travelling the sharp cut lines of his suit – really, his suit is probably the most inexpensive of anyone else in the room by at least several hundred dollars, and Dean looks slightly uncomfortable in his surrounding, but he still looks magnetic and frustrating). Castiel is half debating turning round and talking someone into getting a drink for him, but he’s stalled enough that Michael has registered his too-close presence behind them and is turning around.

“Brother,” Michael says, and his voice makes Castiel feel slightly nauseated. Michael was largely responsible for bringing him up (despite what Gabriel might say otherwise, he’d been too keen to run off and do his own thing), alongside Raphael and Zachariah, so he’s aware that this was always going to be difficult. He doesn’t quite hate his brother, but merely disagrees with everything he stands for on a deep fundamental level. “Gabriel said you would be here, but I didn’t believe him.” 

“Hello, Michael,” Castiel says, attempting to turn to the bar and ignore the possibility of conversation. Of course, Dean foils his plan. 

“So you’re Michael?” Dean asks, his previous polite expression disappearing dramatically. Castiel kind of loves him for it, even though that’s unhelpful given everything. 

“And you are?” 

“Dean Winchester,” Castiel supplies, and leaves it at that. 

“Friend of Cas and Gabe,” Dean says, drawing his shoulders up higher. He thinks Dean might be marginally taller, but Michael is still the more opposing figure. 

“Friend?” Michael snears. 

“Yeah, _friend._ ” Dean says, and everything about it is a challenge. 

“Your friend was just telling me about the importance of lubrication,” Michael tells Castiel. He isn’t quite sure how to react, because whist the mocking tone Michael has adopted makes him bristle and wants to rush to Dean’s defence, he’s also utterly baffled as to how Dean could possible get on to the subject of _lube_ at a corporate dinner. It’s patently ridiculous and he wants to turn his eyes on Dean and ask him _what_ could have possessed him, but he also wants to defend his honour so to speak. 

“You wanna beer, Cas?” Dean asks, rolling his eyes at Michael and ignoring his comment. At least it means Castiel doesn’t have to react, although it leads to another dilemma. It isn’t really a beer type of event, and Dean has been talking about sex to his big brother. 

“Dry white wine, thank you,” Castiel says, voice sharp. Dean flushes pink and Castiel immediately regrets the words leaving his lips, particularly when Michael laughs, claps Castiel on the shoulder and disappears into the crowd to talk to someone undoubtedly considered more important. 

“Yeah, okay,” Dean says, “No need to be a jackass about it though, Cas.” 

“Why are you here?” 

“Turns out Sam’s girlfriend is married,” Dean says, shrugging in a what-can-you-do kind of way. Unfortunately, now they’re alone again and Castiel accidentally meets Dean’s eyes, which means he loses a few moments before he’s able to pull himself together. “I’m his plus one.” 

“Where is Sam?” 

“Ditched me to go kiss some rich guys ass,” Dean says. 

“Why were you talking to my brother about lubricat?” 

“I didn’t know he was your brother,” Dean retorts, hotly, “it’s not like everyone’s wearing name tags, Cas. And it’s not like I have anything else in common with the penguin suited masses. I’m as uncomfortable as fuck. I’m not _trying_ to screw this up.” 

Dean finally gets the attention of the bar tender and orders two glasses of white wine, which sends a thrill of guilt through Castiel’s spine. 

“Dean, that’s unnecessary. It is not of import.” 

“If it’s of _import_ enough for you to switch from beer –” 

_“– Dean,”_ Cas cuts across, because his voice is rising and several people are glancing over at them curiously. He certainly doesn’t need any more attention than he’s receiving already; he’s been conspicuous by his absence for the past couple of years, and now his reappearance is making an equal stir. “Thank you for the drink.” 

“Yeah, well, it’s an open bar.” 

“Who told you that?” 

“God damn it, Sam,” Dean mutters, rolling his eyes towards the ceiling. Castiel finds his lips twisting upwards as he pulls a note out of his wallet and hands it to the bartender. He can imagine the conversation between Sam and Dean Winchester and how difficult it would have been to persuade Dean to attend, allergy to feelings withstanding. 

“I need to find Gabriel,” Castiel says, before Dean can object to him throwing cash around (which he knows irritates Dean full well), before taking his wine glass and leaving Dean to wait for the change alone. 

Dean has made it quite clear that he doesn’t want to talk to him over the past week, and Castiel isn’t going to impose himself on him. 

* 

The last time Dean was this uncomfortable, it was when Bobby drunk dialled him and told him about how much he enjoyed getting pedicures. At least that had provided future blackmail material and a small amount of amusement, scarred as he was. Now, there’s no consolation prize… Cas is looking pretty hot in his tuxedo and all, but that’s more of a stab to the gut than something he can enjoy. He’s pretty sure Michael’s brother was making a gay joke before (and, seriously, what a douchebag), which he figures might have lead Cas to acting like an asshole. 

Whatever. 

He’s ninety percent sure that every single person here is a douchebag and, besides, he doesn’t really want to talk to anyone lest he accidentally winds up talking to another of Cas’ mystery brothers. He really doesn’t need to irritate Cas any more at this point. 

Not like he can just stand around drinking fancy ass wine (that tastes the piss, for the record) and glowering at everyone until the drinks reception gives way to the meal, though. He’d probably get chucked out for loitering and he can only imagine how angry that would make Cas (and how funny Gabe would find it, too). 

He spots Sam’s head floating above everyone else and makes a bee line in his direction. At least if he hangs around his brother then he’s not stood there on his own and, hopefully, Sam will have sniffed out a none-dickhead to talk to. Doubtful, but his brother’s got to have some taste. 

“Want any wine, Sasquatch?” 

He gives his brother a _totally busted your ass about the whole free bar thing_ look. Sam has the grace to appear slightly sheepish about that blatant lie, but Dean’s not sure he can really resent him for it. He’d managed to drag Sam through the full story about Amelia and he’s got to admit that it’s a shitty situation to find yourself in, even though Dean’s not exactly championing Sam’s decision to chivalrously step back and let the late Don Richardson win her back over or whatever. Still, it’s hard to be mad at Sammy when his life’s so god damn tragic. 

Not that Dean’s is going much better. 

“Sure,” Sam says, taking the glass of wine, “This is my brother, Dean. Dean, this is Dick Roman.” 

Sam gives him a _don’t laugh about his name being dick_ sort of look. 

Because, yeah, that’s hilarious. 

“Pleasure,” Dick Roman says, before proceeding to ignore him in favour of talking to Sam about something or other that Dean doesn’t understand. 

Whatever. 

Dean fucking hates these places. 

* 

Dean saw Cas talking to this blonde guy for a good twenty minutes earlier and actually _laughing_ at one point, but it’s not jealousy that has him sidling over and introducing himself. He figures if there’s someone in this joint capable of making Castiel laugh, then they’ve got to be a damn site more interesting than pretty sure much everyone other suited and booted mud monkey here. 

Anything to get away from the super creepy paediatrician Alistair, who’s slimy enough that Dean feels like he really needs a shower after five minutes of innocuous talk about the weather. He’s not sure how the guy managed it. It’s got absolutely nothing to do with the fact that blonde guy had his hand on Castiel’s shoulder, or that thirty seconds into conversation with said blonde guy (Balthazar, apparently) it’s clear that Balthazar is openly interested in _anything_ that moves and the kind of rich that makes Dean want to punch someone. 

He’s also vaguely charming, which is frigging weird. 

Dean probably hates him more than the Alistair guy. 

“No, dude, waxing is important,” Dean is saying, fuck knows why, because Balthazar is turning every damn thing he’s saying into an innuendo or making some wise crack about Cas, “People think it’s some surplus thing that doesn’t really matter, but unless you wanna be redoing your paint job then – ” 

“ – how often would you say you get your baby waxed?” Balthazar asks, with a quirk of his eyebrow as he drinks more of his obnoxious wine. Dean flushes slightly. 

“First, I do it myself. Not letting some randomer get up close and personal with my baby, but like… once a month. Keeps her looking like she just left the showroom. Leaving it longer than that lowers her value, not that I’d…oh, hey Cas,” Dean says, cutting off awkwardly. He knows his crusade of talking excessively about his car is kinda dumb, and Sam was probably joking when he suggested it, but his life doesn’t overlap with any of these people in any other way. They don’t even drink beer and Dean has nothing to say about any of them. 

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says. There’s something going on his expression that Dean can’t work out, like Cas is… judging his choice of conversation topic, or something, which is making him irritated and frustrated. What does Cas _want_ him to talk about? Is he not good enough company now they’re surrounded by rich business dicks? 

Cas is holding two beers. 

The question on Dean’s lips sort of dies (alongside the irritation), when Cas presses one of the beers into Deans hand and takes a sip of the other himself. 

“Alistair can be unpleasant,” Cas says, “I hope you weren’t forced to speak with him very long.” 

Fuck, he loves Cas. 

“Castiel,” Balthazar says, clapping a hand over his shoulder again and beaming between the pair of them, “Dean here was just telling me about waxing.” 

“I heard,” Castiel returns, expression tightening. 

“How long did you say _baby_ has been in your possession, Dean?” 

Dean absolutely does not give a shit about Balthazar, because Cas just bought him a beer. 

Everything about the past few weeks is totally forgiven and forgotten. He can’t live without Cas. Sam is right. He needs to… well, first, he needs to tackle Cas’ frigging issues head on and that’s probably gonna involve a fuck tonne of awkward conversation, which will probably be about as comfortable as talking to Alistair about the weather. It’s got to be done, though, because even though Cas is mad at him, he saw Dean was uncomfortable and brought him a frigging beer. 

He needs Cas. 

“Long time,” Dean shrugs, “She was my Dad’s before she was mine…. Was probably sixteen first time he let me take her for a ride. Just after I’d turned legal.” He’s turning back to Cas when he catches the change in the guy’s expression, which is kind of alarming. “Thanks for the beer, man,” Dean’s saying, even though what he actually means is _I fucking love you_. 

Cas looks the most uncomfortable that Dean has ever seen him. 

“You okay?” Dean asks, frowning. 

“I’ll leave you two to your beers,” Balthazar declares somewhere beyond the scope of Dean’s ability to care, because there are a whole host of things off with Cas’ expression. 

“Cas, seriously,” Dean says, reaching out for a grip on his arm, “You look like you’ve just seen a ghost or something. You good? Snorted too much champagne? Caught the sleazy off one of these guys? What’s going on?” Cas is looking specifically at _him_ as though he’s gone crazy and Dean isn’t quite sure what the protocol for this is. 

“Umm... let’s find your brother,” Dean says, half putting an arm round Cas in order to direct him towards where Gabe and Sam are chatting near the entrance to the dining room and feeling overly aware of the line of physical contact. Cas is scaring him, though, and he doesn’t know what to do. The guy looks like he’s whited out and the lack of response is… well, frankly terrifying. He’s too freaked out to even find the height difference between Sam and Gabriel funny like he normally does, which is saying something. 

“Food’s soon, Dean, keep your panties on… woah, there, what did you do to my kid bro?” 

Dean shrugs because he doesn’t know what the hell is going on. 

“Hey Dean,” Sam says, “don’t freak but… I heard Crowley talking about making an offer on Baby?” 

_“What?”_

“He saw her in the parking lot and was asking around and Lucifer told him that she’s yours and…” 

“She’s not for sale, Sammy,” Dean snaps, glancing round the room and glaring at anyone who so much as looks at him. No one gets his fucking car. She’s his and she always will be. It makes him kind of uncomfortable that someone else might buy her when he’s dead and buried, let alone thinking about some asshole with a fat cheque book sitting behind the front wheel while he’s still kicking. They wouldn’t treat her right. They’d let her sit in a garage like some show piece or put her in rotation with some trashy cars, so she’d never be out on the road like she’s supposed to and…. No. He’d sell his soul than for less he’d sell his car. 

“I know,” Sam says, quickly. 

“Which of these douche bags is _Crowley?_ ” Dean snaps, eyes flicking round the room again. Sam points him out looking slightly scared but, frankly, he doesn’t care if he gets kicked out as long as no one eyes up his car and thinks they can get a piece of the action. Jesus. “You good, Cas?” 

“Yes,” Cas says. He doesn’t look good, but at least the guys actually _responded_ this time. 

“I’ll be back in a sec I just – “ 

“No,” Cas cuts across, and the starkness of it winds Dean a little bit, “that’s unnecessary. I merely wished to delivery your beer.” 

“Fine,” Dean says, snapping ever so slightly, because he’s a hundred percent done with this hot and cold crap when it comes to Castiel Novak. He’s said it before and he’ll say it again, the guy makes no sense. Obviously, he doesn’t want Dean hanging around so… whatever. Screw him. 

And screw this Crowley douchebag who thinks he can buy his fucking car. 

* 

Castiel can clearly remember the time he discovered that Michael, and by extension himself was screwing hundreds of people over with bogus pension funds and health care programs full of so many hidden loop holes that virtually nothing was covered. His heart froze slightly, his stomach twisted painfully, and everything was white noise for half an hour until he remembered how to think. 

That’s how he feels when Dean Winchester states that his girlfriend ‘was Dad’s before she was mine.’ 

First, it takes him a few seconds to process what has just been said. Secondly, he registers the fact that Balthazar has hardly reacted to this snippet of information at all, for all the world like it’s perfectly normal for a father to hand down his sexual partner to his eldest son. 

He has enough knowledge of the Winchester brothers to know that their relationship with their father was complicated and difficult on occasions, but that’s vastly difference to John Winchester handing down his girlfriend to his eldest son the day after he was legally allowed have sex. That is… vastly inappropriate and smacks of something much more serious than a ‘difficult’ relationship. 

It explains why Dean clearly has no knowledge of social boundaries in regards to discussing ‘Baby’ (and coming from Castiel, that’s a fairly damning assessment; his brothers have always been quick to point out that his grasp of social niceties and practices is severely lacking), and perhaps why Dean always refers to her by an endearment and never a name. She was handed down to him like a piece of inheritance rather than a person and, further…. How _old_ Is baby? 

Dean is talking to him, but Castiel can’t process what he’s saying. There is a possibility that he’s in shock. Dean has a girlfriend, but a girlfriend who used to date his father. Dean clearly has a lot more issues that Castiel had previously realised and, further, Baby is probably even more messed up than Dean Winchester. Maybe it isn’t all that surprising that Dean doesn’t see the issue with being in love with Castiel whilst he has baby, but it’s looking growlingly likely that Dean Winchester’s judgement on these things cannot be trusted. 

Castiel is being lead across the room towards his brother. 

Dean is not an asshole. Dean is a man who has been utterly screwed up by what sounds like a borderline abusive relationship with his father. Dean clearly has a myriad of issues that Castiel was unaware of. He’s both fucked up and a psychologist’s wet dream, but he is not actually an asshole. 

He zones back into the conversation exactly at the moment that Sam Winchester says that Crowley wishes to buy Dean Winchester’s girlfriend off him. 

He does not know how to react. 

Dean seems understandably angry about this fact. Agitated, paranoid, disappears into the crowd to hunt out Crowley. 

“That guy is waaaayyy over attached,” Gabriel says, as Castiel struggles to remember how exactly breathing works. He doesn’t know what the correct way to handle any of this is and he doesn’t know why everyone else seems to be pretending that this situation is perfectly normal. Castiel may not have complete understanding of how social interactions work, but in his experience it is generally not okay for business men to attempt to buy women they saw standing outside that are currently in a relationship (if it’s actually a relationship, as opposed to any of other messed up explanations that are running through Castiel’s mind) at corporate dinners. 

“Wouldn’t you be?” Sam Winchester asks. His voice is entirely too light for the context of this conversation and... everything about this is confusing. Castiel’s head hurts. 

“She is sexy,” Gabriel agrees. 

Castiel feels his head turning towards his brother, his forehead furrowing into a frown. Whilst he finds it _just about_ in the realms of plausibility that for both Sam and Dean this new development isn’t as utterly senseless as it is (as, clearly, they have very skewed points of reference), the fact that his brother isn’t immediately stepping away and making a comment about a loony bin is… odd. 

There is something not quite right with this whole situation, beyond the obvious. 

“Believe me, the ride is better,” 

“You speaking from first-hand experience, Sammy? I’m surprised he even let you inside her.” 

Castiel needs a drink. Or thirty. 

“It’s Sam. And, yeah, I’ve been in the driver’s seat once or twice.” 

“Reckon he’d let me have a go?” Gabriel asks, looking faintly wistful. Castiel is running over the possibility that this is actually a strange dream inspired by someone putting something unsavoury in his drink because… this isn’t normal. This is not normal. “Damn, I’d love to rev up that engine.” 

“Yeah, good luck. You’d have to prize the keys out of Dean’s cold, dead fingers. And then you’d have to shoot me first.” 

_Oh._

For the second time in the past thirty minutes, Castiel feels an odd sense of detachment from himself because… actually, that makes sense. A lot more sense than the scenarios he’s currently running over in his head. 

“Baby is Dean’s car,” Castiel says aloud, without precisely meaning too. There’s an odd sense of wonderment attached to the words as they fall out of his lips, matched entirely by an intense sense of relief. The world has not gone utterly crazy. His brother has not adopted some blasé attitude towards prostitution. Dean Winchester did not in fact inherit his girlfriend from his father. 

_Dean Winchester doesn’t have a girlfriend._

 _He has a car._

Both Sam and Gabriel have gone very quiet, before turning to facing Castiel in confused unison. 

“Yeah…” Sam says, slowly, “What did you…?” 

“No,” Gabriel says, smile beginning to stretch at the corner of his lips, “Cassie, that’s too good.” 

“I’m lost,” Sam says. Gabriel turns to look at Sam with his eyes shining. “Oh my god,” Sam says, the realisation dawning just as Gabriel starts to laugh. 

Castiel has never heard Sam Winchester laugh before, although he has heard Gabriel’s laughter regularly through most of his life. Even so, he’s sure that neither Sam nor Gabriel have laughed this hard for a significant length of time. Gabriel looks like he might start choking and has already spilt his glass of champagne down his front; Sam’s head is titled back, tears forming at the corner of his eyes. 

It’s infectious despite the fact that Castiel is aware he should be feeling incredibly stupid, because it’s difficult to care about his idiocy when it turns out that Dean did not inherit his girlfriend from his father and, more to the point, does not have a girlfriend at all. 

“Excuse me,” Castiel says, leaving his brother and Sam just barely remaining vertical, because finding Dean Winchester is much more important than listening to them laughing at him. 

* 

Dean is hovering near the bar and talking to Anna Milton, family friend and previously his boss (she quit for reasons Castiel can’t quite remember); the conversation is frankly far too flirtatious for Castiel comfort given very recent revelations, but then _God knows_ what Dean thinks Castiel has been going on about for the past couple of months. As he watches, Anna leans forwards and claps a hand over Dean’s shoulder, Dean smiles slightly, his eyes crinkle into a laugh and – 

“ _\- Dean,”_ Castiel interjects, insistent enough that Dean is turning around and glancing at him. Dean does not have a girlfriend. The whole time Dean has been hitting on him, he has been single. When Dean said that he loved him, he was single. Instead, Dean just talks overly affectionately about his car, which is something that Castiel can definitely work with; in fact, as soon as he gets over the fact that he’s been entirely mistaken about Dean’s love live for the entirety of their acquaintance, he’s sure he’ll manage to find it somewhere within himself to find the pet name ‘baby’ vaguely endearing. One day, he’s sure this entire business will be quite entertaining… but, right now Dean is flirting with Anna, which is not okay. 

“Um, Cas?” Dean says, glancing towards him. 

“We need to leave,” Castiel says, “Right now.” 

Dean glances at Anna with a quirk of his eyebrow and a look of pure confusion, as if she might have the answer to Castiel’s admittedly strange behaviour. Castiel rolls his eyes towards the ceiling. 

Perhaps grabbing Dean by the tie and planting one on him in the middle of his brother’s corporate dinner wasn’t the most sensible thing he’s ever done, and Dean is so surprised that it’s a little like kissing an inanimate object, but when he steps back (still holding onto his tie) Dean’s slack jawed expression makes it worth it. He’s also fairly sure he’s staked his claim, as far as Anna is concerned. 

“Yeah,” Dean says, once he’s stared at him for a few long seconds and swallowed visibly, “Uh… need to leave, right. I’ll just…” He makes a vague gesture towards Anna, brow furrowing, before he turns back to Cas again. “Wait, what?” 

“Dean,” 

“Right, leaving.” Dean says, nodding, “Obviously.” 

Castiel makes a note to text Gabriel later and inform him that they’ve left (although he’s sure he could work it out), because there isn’t time right now. It’s much too important to get Dean Winchester back to his apartment, or to get them both to Castiel’s apartment, or anywhere with a bed that they can utilise because he _needs_ Dean Winchester, right now. 

Castiel kisses him again the second they reach the elevator, scrabbling for purchase under Dean’s shirt and mapping out the skin of Dean’s hips. Dean cups one hand around his jaw and sends them stumbling back against the wall, pressing their bodies flush together. 

“The fuck, Cas,” Dean mutters into Castiel’s neck, lips brushing against his earlobe and Castiel’s thoughts are derailing because, fuck, Castiel could have had this for months and it’s not surprising that Dean is confused because _he’s_ confused. He’s not entirely sure what’s been going on or what they’ve even been talking about for months, but it’s difficult to concentrate on that when he’s just realised that _he can have Dean._

“Dean,” Castiel mutters, scrambling around his brain to try and find something to explain his side of the colossal misunderstanding, but then the elevator doors are opening and they’re spilling out onto the foyer. “Yours or mine?” 

“What?” 

“Would you prefer to go to your apartment or mine?” 

“No, yeah, I got that bit,” Dean says, hand reaching up to the back of his neck, “Just a little bit confused as to how we got here, Cas.” 

“We took the elevator,” Castiel deadpans, and Dean rolls his eyes. 

“Yours,” Dean says, “I, uh, haven’t cleaned up in a couple of days.” Castiel is nodding and heading towards the entrance of the hotel, but Dean grabs a handful of his suit and holds him in place. “Level with me here, Cas,” Dean says, and it’s one of the first things he ever said to Castiel, and the flashback causes another spike of affection, “I’m frigging confused, man. What’s going on?” 

“I thought Baby was your girlfriend.” Castiel says, turning to face Dean straight on. 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” He can see Dean recalculating. First, he blinks at him a couple of times and then a smile is starting to twist at the corner of his lips, giving way to a full blown smile. “Jesus Christ, Cas. Fuck.” 

“Baby _is_ usually a term of endearment used within the context of a relationship, Dean –“ 

“Fuck,” Dean says, “Cas, we needed to leave like _yesterday.”_ Castiel smiles and reaches in his pocket for his car keys, but Dean catches his wrist before he has a chance. “The hell I’m letting you drive,” Dean says, “you obviously aren’t qualified to have a god damn car.” 

And that’s how Castiel Novak ends up making out with Dean Winchester inside a Chevy 67 Impala that is occasionally referred to as ‘Baby.’ 

* 

“We’re necking inside my baby, Cas,” Dean grins into Cas’ lips, “that’s pretty dirty.” 

“Dean,” Cas says, voice rougher than usual in a way that does things to Dean, “Dean, shut up.” 

“Never been cock blocked by my own car,” Dean’s laughing into the bare skin of Cas’ torso, teeth and tongue and lips. “Wanted you so bad, Cas, needed you…” then he’s pausing and laughing again, hands shaking, “fuck, Cas, you thought I was dating my _car.”_

“Dean,” 

“Quit whining,” Dean bites back, kissing him again, “you dumb fuck.” 

“Not entirely my fault, Dean.” 

“She is sexy though,” Dean grins. 

“That’s it,” Cas says, drawing back away from him. Dean sighs at the sudden lack of heat and warmth, frowning as Cas scrambles round the backseat to find his shirt. “I’m not screwing you in the Impala, Dean.” 

“So now you don’t like baby?” 

“No,” Cas deadpans, “I don’t.” 

“Jealous?” 

“Shut up,” Cas says, and Dean finds himself laughing again. He’s entirely sure he’s laughed more in the past hour than the last few years, but it’s not just the fact that Cas, bizarrely, thought he was fucking his car (Sam is never going to let him live that down, Jesus, and Gabriel is going to be in-fucking-possible), it’s more the lightness sitting in his gut. Somehow, despite coming at this from completely the wrong angle and both of them reading entirely different novels, let along being on the same page, they’re not at this position where they’ve already kinda done the I love yous, and apparently there’s nothing staked against them. He can have this. 

And it’s fucking _hilarious._

Except, with Cas’ eyes that exact shade of blue it also feels pretty damn serious. He honest to god doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve this chance with Cas and he can’t get over how good it feels to have Cas kiss him without restraint, because they’re allowed this, and he’s going to make this work. 

“Let’s get inside,” Dean says, re-buttoning his shirt. 

“Is that a euphemism?” Cas asks, expression of feigned innocence painted across his features. 

And then Dean’s laughing all over again. 

* 

They’re halfway to naked when it occurs to Cas to ask. 

Dean pauses in running his hand over the planes of Cas’ stomach, where he’s been tracing out the lines of Cas’ flesh with the pads of his fingertips; it’s stupidly affectionate compared to his normal routine, but he can’t bring himself to care when this is Cas. 

“I… I thought you were frigging homophobic,” Dean says, eventually, “Thought you were one of those pray away the gay types.” 

“Oh,” Cas returns, “That explains why you asked about the gay bar.” 

“What did you think I was getting at?” Dean asks, pressing a kiss to the corner of Cas’ lips. Cas curls a hand around the back of his neck and holds him hostage there. Dean doesn’t particularly mind. 

“I thought you were implying that because I worked at a den of inequity I didn’t have any moral standing.” 

“Huh,” Dean says, “figures you were pissed.” 

“Hmm,” Cas says, and Dean cuts off the rest of the conversation into the intricacies of their colossal fuck up by searing their lips together. He’s entirely sure that they can talk about the rest of this later. 

* 

“Cas,” Dean says, whilst the man in question is sprawled stark naked and utterly spent across Dean’s chest. He’s not classifying it as cuddling _per say_ , but it’s probably somewhere in that vicinity. “Did you think I was talking to Michael about _lube?”_

_“Shush,”_ Cas says, and presses a finger over Dean’s lips. 

* 

“Could have waited till after the free food,” Dean says, around one in the morning when Dean’s beginning to really register the fact that he hasn’t eaten, god damn it, because they ran out of the corporate dinner like a couple of horny teenagers before they’d even served up the starter. He’d been saving himself for gorging out on the free stuff and between that and all the sex he’s fucking _starving_. 

“Dean,” Castiel implores, voice all angry and rough sounding and, god damn, Dean gets to listen to that voice whenever the damn hell he likes. “Due to your tendency to refer to your car as – ” 

“ – don’t be like that, baby,” Dean grins, pulling Cas away from where’s he’s meticulously writing down their take out order so that he knows what to say on the phone, or some other endearing shit, and back towards his chest. 

Cas is all blue eyes and frowns as he leans over him. 

“ _Do not_ call me Baby.” 

Yeah, that’s probably fair enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're done! This whole story got slightly out of hand but... I hope you enjoyed it and thanks for reading :)


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